What Child is This?
by TesubCalle
Summary: UPDATE! Shocking development in the Hardy's case. What kind of people are they dealing with?
1. The Hunted

**What Child is This?**

By TesubCalle

PROLOGUE: _The Hunted_

A fingernail-sliver of a crescent moon hung in the cloudless night sky. The pale light did little to illuminate a rural road in upstate New York, where four armed figures dressed in dark clothing stood surrounding a disabled dark green Ford Taurus.

The vehicle's interior light, however, was bright enough to show the abject fear on the faces of the young couple occupying the front seats.

Moments earlier, the car had inexplicably lost power and rolled to a stop, much to the bewilderment of the couple. They had been about to pop the hood when a large, black van with tinted windows pulled up behind them. Out of this van came the four figures, armed with handguns and flashlights, who took up positions around the car.

"Who are they, Cal? What do they _want?_" the woman on the passenger-side whispered tremulously to her male companion. She tried to avoid glancing at the person standing just outside her door, his flashlight blinding; the deadly-looking weapon extended and pointing directly at her head.

"I don't know, Sandy," the man in the driver's space responded worriedly in a low voice. "Whatever it is they want…if we just cooperate…maybe they'll let us go." The crack in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

"Step out of the car, please, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter," the figure at the driver's side door stated menacingly, and tapped the barrel of his silenced gun on the window.

The suddenness of his command coupled with the tapping noise startled the pair, who were known to family and friends as Calvin and Sandra Hunter.

"Look, we don't have anything of value," Calvin found his voice, directing his comment to the apparent 'leader' of the foursome. "If it's our _car_ you want…"

"Shut up!" the harshly intoned retort stunned Cal into silence. "I said step out of the car!"

A soft, almost inaudible yawn drifted from the backseat. Cal and Sandra immediately cast anxious looks behind them. With a tiny, serene stretch, their infant son, nestled securely in his baby carrier, fluttered his eyes, and then made no further sound as he drifted back to sleep.

"The baby, Cal," Sandra said to her husband in a terrified whimper, her heart hammering in her chest. "We can't leave the baby…"

"Step out of the car _now!_" another more forceful command issued forth from the 'leader'. Calvin made a slow movement to release the locks on the doors.

"Don't!" Sandra begged in a desperate, hushed tone, clutching at his right arm. "Please stay in the car! We don't know who they are…they'll just kill us and the baby if we get out; I just know it!"

"And they'll kill us if we _stay…_Look, Sandy, if I can get the jump on them," Cal said as quietly as he could so Sandra could still hear, "I want you to run as far away as possible. Don't stop running until you find someone who can help us."

"But how will y-you - ? W-what about - ?" she stammered in confusion.

"On the count of three, I'm going to unlock the doors," Cal broke in gently, but firmly. "Open your door as quickly and forcefully as you can. I'm going to do the same. Once you're out of the car - _run and don't look back. _Understand?"

Sandra set her jaw and nodded in comprehension.

"That's my girl," Calvin said with a sad smile. He gave her left hand a small, reassuring pat. "Ready?"

Sandra gave a brave nod.

"Okay - one, two, _three!_"

Calvin and Sandra abruptly shoved open their respective doors, hoping to catch the interlopers by surprise.

It was a move they would not live to regret.

Five minutes later, the four men were hastily digging two graves in a wooded area a short distance away from the rural road.

"Dig them deep," the 'leader' instructed. "Make them too shallow, and scavengers might unearth the bodies, and we can't have that."

When it was determined the pits in the dirt were a satisfactory depth, the lifeless bodies of Calvin and Sandra Hunter were dragged and unceremoniously dumped into the holes. Two men began the task of shovelling the dirt back to cover the bodies. The other two swept the area for the spent shell casings ejected by the weapons used to terminate the Hunters.

In another fifteen minutes, the dead couple's car was back in working order and one man was readying to drive it to a destination where it would be disposed of. But before that happened, the still-slumbering infant Hunter was gently removed from the back seat and transferred to the waiting black van, which had a covert destination of its own.

>

Frank Hardy looked up from his casework as he sat at his desk in the building that housed the private investigative business he operated with his younger brother, Joe. Standing before him was a familiar, pretty blonde-haired young woman. He felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and he rose to greet his visitor.

"Hello, Callie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Frank moved from behind his desk and gave her a quick, friendly embrace. Callie Hunter, nee Shaw, had been Frank's steady girlfriend for several years, but the pair had eventually broken up. It was an amicable and mutual parting, and Callie was now married to a man named Daniel Hunter.

"Long time, no see, Frank," Callie said warmly, mirroring the smile on Frank's face. Her expression, however, changed with her next words: "I just wish I was coming here under more pleasant circumstances."

Frank's own smile turned to a frown of worry. "What's the matter? Is everything okay? Your parents -"

Callie waved him to silence. "Mom and Dad are fine; thanks for asking," she said dismissively. "Danny's fine, too."

"That's good," Frank said with relief. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me exactly why you _are _here, then?"

The young woman took a seat opposite Frank as he returned to his place behind his desk.

"I don't know if you saw an item in the news last month about a missing family," Callie started tentatively.

"You'd have to be more specific," Frank responded, leaning back in his chair.

"A husband and wife, plus their infant son," Callie said haltingly, a troubled look clouding her face.

"Go on," urged Frank.

Callie fell silent; her gaze cast down at her tightly folded hands that she had rested in her lap.

Sensing her distress, Frank said softly, "Callie, what is it?"

She looked up and took a deep breath before continuing, her words finally tumbling from her mouth in a torrent. "That missing family…they're my in-laws. Calvin and Sandra Hunter - Danny's brother, sister-in-law, and their baby son, Andy. They've simply _vanished_. The local police up there are completely baffled."

Frank remained silent while Callie continued.

"They were out on a weekend trip to the family cabin. But there's simply been no trace of them or their car. Nothing. I know it sounds clichéd, but it looks like they really _have_ just disappeared into thin air. The whole family's just devastated by this. Cal and Sandy just aren't the kind of people to run off unexpectedly. They're responsible adults. Andy's practically a newborn, and even if they took off on some crazy extended vacation without telling anyone, there's no way they'd go this long without contacting us. Frank, we desperately need you and Joe to find out what's happened to them. _Please_ say you'll help us."


	2. Gun Shy

**A/N: Standard disclaimer. I don't own the characters I didn't create. Just borrowing them all from their rightful owners for my own nefarious purposes, as always. 'Suze' belongs to Barbara D'Amato.**

**Chapter 2.**

Nancy Drew slipped protective mufflers over her ears and slid on a pair of safety glasses. Her hair, naturally blonde with unmistakeably bold red highlights, still held the traces of a hasty brown dye job from a few months ago. The length was such that the ends were just beginning to brush her collar. Today she'd taken the liberty of pulling her hair back into a neat pony-tail.

She quickly loaded her double-action Sig Sauer P226 9mm, squared her body to the target in front of her, positioning herself in a perfect Modern Isosceles stance. The sound of gunfire echoed around her at steady intervals; staccato bursts from other officers practicing at the firing range.

Nancy tensed her finger against the trigger, but was distracted as she noticed someone pass behind her to take up the 'booth' to her left. It was enough to break her concentration, and she lowered her weapon momentarily to regroup and re-focus.

Before she could be reinstated to active duty after a lengthy hiatus from the Chicago Police Department, Nancy would have to re-certify so she would again be able to carry her Sig, as well as the Beretta PX4 she used as a backup piece. She was at the practice range now, hoping to sharpen up before her upcoming course of fire.

For over a year, she had been written off the CPD roster. Majority of that time had been spent in hiding, on the run in protective custody. She was finally able to return and confront those responsible for her predicament, and after a couple months' rest, Nancy felt it was at last time to return to her position as a detective in the Homicide squad.

Expelling a breath, Nancy raised her arms again and stared intently at the target that dangled 5 yards away from her spot in the booth. The target scoring area was an 81/2 x 14 inch overlay. Her main focus was the center mass, and Nancy translated that area in her mind to a real-life target.

_Head and chest. _

Those were the desirable marks.

_Shoot to kill, not to wound. _

In the field, simply wounding your quarry might mean they could still have an opportunity to return fire, which could result in deadly consequences.

Nancy had never liked guns, but learn to use them she had, because it was essential to earning a position on the force. In the academy, she had spent many countless hours practicing at the range, honing her already innate hand-eye coordination skills. She wasn't the _best _shot on the force, but she always exceeded department requirements whenever she was up for her usual annual re-certification. Nancy hoped meeting the minimum passing score of 70 percent would be no different this time around.

If it came down to a life or death situation, Nancy knew she _would_ shoot to kill. She was thankful that during her time as a patrol officer - even though there had been a few tense moments - such a situation never arose.

Realising she had been standing still for more than a minute as her thoughts danced in her mind, Nancy chided herself. _Just shoot, already! _She tensed her finger on the trigger once more, and stared down at the target. _They time you on the real thing, remember? Get going!_

A _pop-pop-pop _sound managed to work its way through her mufflers, and Nancy involuntarily jumped. It was made by the officer firing off shots in the booth to her left. Even muted, the proximity of the noise emitted from the other weapon left her feeling oddly shaken.

Suddenly Nancy's arms felt as if they were made of lead, and her breath began coming in short, shallow gasps.

_Pop-pop-pop!_

The memory of a warm, October night came unbidden. A chill passed through Nancy as details of the drive-by shooting that had sent her into hiding - and seriously wounded her two best friends - presented themselves in full clarity: She could see the street from the sidewalk restaurant patio, and the speeding car with its darkened window rolled down partially to reveal a weapon that sprayed bullets.

Nancy remembered seeing Georgina 'George' Fayne flying forward onto the table; Bess Marvin crying out and falling to the ground; feeling the burning sensation in her own upper arm. That area just below the left shoulder, long-since healed, now seemed to tingle.

_Pop-pop-pop!_

Knees feeling as if they were made of rubber, Nancy struggled to remain standing in the booth. _What's wrong with me?_ she thought desperately. _Something isn't right_. The grip around her gun loosened and her hands felt cool and clammy. She could feel perspiration beginning to dampen her brow.

_Pop-pop-pop!_

The sound now seemed to explode in her ears, deafening her even with the mufflers in place

_I have to get out of here…_ The thought came to her as she felt her stomach lurch. Hurriedly releasing the clip and safely stowing her weapon, Nancy made a mad dash for the Ladies' restroom

The stall door banged open as Nancy hastily pushed her way inside, and she managed to reach the toilet bowl just in time. The door's momentum caused it to slam back against the frame. It wavered a few times before coming to rest, remaining open just a crack. In her haste, Nancy didn't even look to see if anyone else was in the restroom, and she quite honestly didn't care.

Dry heaves at last subsiding, she rocked back on her haunches, took a deep breath and tore a length of toilet paper from the roll to wipe her mouth, then flushed the toilet.

There was a soft knock at the stall's door. In her fragile state, Nancy instantly felt her heart rate spike, neck muscles tense in surprise, and a prickling sensation rush down her spine.

"Hey. You okay in there?" A voice asked quietly and politely.

"Uh, I'm fine," Nancy managed to say somewhat breathlessly, but realised she was shaking. She swivelled around and pulled herself up unsteadily. She pulled the stall door open and was met by another cop who was shorter than her by several inches, standing at a height that probably barely met CPD regulations.

"Here," the other woman said, holding out a neatly-folded, moistened strip of paper towel. "You didn't sound like you were feeling so hot. I dampened it with some warm water."

Nancy took it gratefully, and quickly put it to her mouth. "Thanks," she mumbled sheepishly.

The shorter woman stepped back to let Nancy exit the stall and said: "No problem."

Nancy headed to one of the sinks and turned on the tap, splashed her face with cold water several times, then rinsed the bitter taste from her mouth.

Feeling a small measure of calm and composure, she turned to pull some paper towels to dry off. The other woman was there, ready with several sheets. A soft, understanding smile flashed across her face.

"Thanks again," Nancy said gratefully, and wiped her face and hands.

Casually inspecting the officer, Nancy noticed she was wearing navy blue sweatpants and a white CPD-issue T-shirt. Her dark hair was up in a no-nonsense French braid.

"I'm Suze," the officer said matter-of-factly, catching Nancy's eyes with her own dark browns.

"Nancy," she replied, and the pair shook hands.

Nancy pegged Suze to be in her late twenties to very early thirties, and looked like she could be part Latina.

"You look familiar," Suze said. "It's Nancy _Drew_, isn't it?"

"That's right," Nancy said with a nod.

"The hotshot detective," Suze was grinning, not unkindly. "I keep pestering my partner that we should both go for the position."

"So why don't you?"

"One of these days!" Suze's voice was optimistic. "Well, I'll see you 'round, Nancy Drew; I gotta get back."

"Nice meeting you, Suze. And thanks again."

The shorter woman had already turned to open the restroom door, and departed with a short wave of her hand.

In the silence that followed, Nancy peered at her reflection in the mirror.

_My nerves feel absolutely fried right now,_ she thought with apprehension Her face looked pale and wan_. I've been to the practice range hundreds of times…And today the slightest sound is making me jump right out of my skin. Something is definitely wrong._

The thought of returning now to continue practicing made her shudder. _I can't go back out there now. Not today…Oh, God, what's the matter with me?_

**A/N: The 'predicament' mentioned in this chapter can be found in 'Who's That Girl?' if you have not yet read that story.**


	3. Family Matters

**Disclaimer: The Hardys and Callie aren't mine. Darn. But everyone else is. No lawsuits, please.**

**3.**

Frank and Joe Hardy were sitting in the well-furnished living room belonging to Daniel and Callie Hunter. Large bay windows allowed the late-afternoon sun to stream in, and an Oriental rug with reds and greens stretched under a mahogany coffee table.

Present besides the young investigators were Callie and Daniel; Daniel's parents, and the immediate family of Sandra Weston Hunter.

Callie stood to make introductions.

"Everybody, thanks for coming," she started, looking to her extended relations. "I'd like you to meet some very good friends of mine: Frank and Joe Hardy. They're the private investigators I've been telling you about. They've graciously agreed to look into what happened to Cal, Sandy and the baby.

"Frank; Joe, you already know Danny…" Callie said, motioning to her tall, scholarly-looking husband who stood up and remained at her side. He gave them a brief nod with his dark head. His bespectacled blue eyes looked as if they were filled with worry, and his mouth was a thin, taut line.

"You guys met Danny's parents, Martin and Janice, at our wedding, I think," Callie continued, as she pointed out the elder Hunters. "And let me introduce Lawrence and Roberta Weston - Sandra's parents - and her younger sister, Jodi."

The older Westons were seated close together on a couch, holding each others' hands in a tight grip. They nodded in Frank and Joe's direction as a greeting. Jodi, who was also sitting on the same couch to her mother's right, gave a half-smile and offered a shy "Hi."

"I've heard a lot about the sort of work you've done from Callie," Martin Hunter said to the Hardys in a deep baritone of a voice. "If there is _anything_ you can do to find the whereabouts of my son, my daughter-in-law and my grandchild, I will be eternally grateful to you." His wife, Janice, slid a little closer to him on the love seat they were occupying, and Martin draped an arm around her shoulders. They both looked like they were on the verge of a tearful breakdown.

Joe Hardy looked around the room and made a concerted effort not to feel too uncomfortable. It was difficult, because he hated missing-persons cases. Such cases, in his experience, usually turned out badly. Together with Frank, they had had some successes, like the missing investor they'd travelled all the way to Australia to track down. They'd wasted three months searching the Outback for Simon Wheland, expecting to find a dried-up carcass, if anything at all. When they did find him, very much alive and well, his flimsy excuse was that he'd simply lost track of time.

_Probably won't happen with this case,_ Joe thought glumly to himself. His instant gut reaction when Frank told him about Callie's desperate request was that Calvin, Sandra and Andrew Hunter would not be found alive. They'd been missing for far too long.

Joe looked into the faces of Sandra's parents. He read there debilitating worry, confusion, dejection and sorrow. Did Lawrence and Roberta also possess some primal, instinctive feeling that their older daughter was dead? He'd read stories where some parents simply _knew_ with uncanny accuracy the fate of a missing child. He liked the accounts where, against all odds, a parent refused to give up based on some inner voice that told them their loved one was among the living. In certain cases, the parents' insistence and persistent searching was rewarded with a joyous reunion.

There were other accounts, of course, where a parent might say: "_As soon as I heard he was missing, I just knew in my heart he was never going to be coming home_." All too often such a feeling ended up being true, as well.

Which category did these two distraught families fall into?

More than anything, Joe wanted a happy ending for this family. _So unless Cal, Sandy and Andy have been abducted by aliens and are being given the grand tour of the universe, I don't think they'll ever be coming back home. _

Joe looked over at his older brother. This was not going to be a pretty case, but knew that they couldn't refuse Callie their help. He just hoped that whatever the outcome, they would be able to get some concrete answers. And if the Hunters' disappearance was indeed due to foul play, Joe also hoped they'd be able to secure justice.

Callie, having finished the introductions, moved with Danny to a pair of chairs in the corner of living room.

"Thanks, all of you, for coming this afternoon," Frank said, leaning forward, and looking at each person in turn. "When Callie came to me a few days ago, I knew I would not be able to turn her down. Both me and my brother want you to know right now that we're not doing this out of a sense of duty. We're here because you need help, and the police just don't have the time or resources to devote to a lengthy investigation. The trail has gone cold, but you have my word that we will do everything that is humanly possible to find out what happened to Calvin, Sandra and baby Andrew."

"We've requested from the state police whatever information they have in their investigation of the disappearance," Joe stated, picking up where Frank left off, "but we'd like to hear from all of you what you know at this point in time. We understand, of course, that you've probably been over this numerous times in the past month. Anything you can tell us at all, no matter how insignificant, will be very helpful to us."

"Right," Frank echoed. "Plus, we'd like to have recent pictures of the three of them, if you have any at all. Callie told me you've already posted pictures of them in and around the town nearest the cabin they were staying. We'd like to keep that up."

Roberta Weston spoke up: "The most recent photos were taken at the hospital just after Andy was born. Larry has them stored on the computer. We took quite a large number, of course."

"Good," Frank said with a nod. "You can e-mail them to us, then, as soon as possible."

"I have other pictures here with me now," Roberta said, opening her purse. She rummaged around and pulled out her wallet. "Here. These are of Cal and Sandy after they were engaged. The pictures are about a year-and-a-half old." She passed them down the line to Frank and Joe, and they were soon looking at a smiling, attractive young couple.

One of the wallet-sized photos showed Sandra with shoulder-length, naturally wavy dark brown hair. Her blue eyes sparkled under well-shaped eyebrows, and her nose was straight. With full lips, high cheekbones and perfect complexion completing her facial features, the two Hardys conceded that Sandra was a very pretty woman. It was also easy to see that she resembled her mother in many ways. In fact, both Weston girls looked like Roberta, as Jodi's own looks mirrored her mother's.

Calvin Hunter also had dark hair and blue eyes, much like his older brother, Danny. He had what some would describe as 'boyish' good looks. His grin showed off white teeth, and his cheeks were dimpled. Cal had inherited a strong, square jaw from his father, as well as a slight cleft in his chin.

"They were just going up to the cabin for the weekend," Martin Hunter said, in answer to Joe's request for details surrounding the disappearance. "They're both of them outdoorsy people."

"Weren't they a bit worried about having a newborn infant with them in a remote area?" Frank asked.

"Cal and Sandy? _Worried_?" Martin scoffed. "If they'd had a choice, they'd have given _birth _to Andy in the cabin. My kids aren't yuppies, Mr. Hardy. No, they weren't at all concerned about taking the baby up with them. They'd love to get him as accustomed to it as soon as possible. It's what me and Janice did with the boys."

"What were they driving?" Joe asked.

"Well, the SUV, which they would normally have used, was in the shop, so they took Sandy's Taurus," Martin Hunter answered. "Someone- some vandal had gone on a spree in their neighbourhood the day before they wanted to take the drive to the cabin. The tires on the SUV and seven other cars on the street were slashed. The Taurus was parked in the garage at the time."

"License plate number and description?" Joe asked.

"It's a dark green sedan," Jodi Weston piped up, "like a forest green. It's a pretty common colour for the model of Taurus Sandy bought. It was a 1998. The plate number is S72 8KV."

"I tried to call them late the Sunday night they were supposed to come home," Roberta spoke in a soft voice. "I only got the answering machine, so I just thought they perhaps hadn't come back yet. I left a message telling them they could call as late as midnight. Just to let us know they got back safely, you know?"

Frank and Joe nodded.

"And…they just never called back…" Tears spilled over onto Roberta's cheeks, and her husband, Lawrence, pulled out a handkerchief.

"It's okay, Larry," Roberta sniffed impatiently, wiping at the tears with her hands. "I'm okay. I just need to know what _happened_ to them. Not knowing…that's what's driving me crazy."

"Of course," Frank said soothingly. "This case is our top priority as of right now, Mrs. Weston."

As Frank and Joe departed from Callie and Danny's home later that evening, they could not help but wonder what sort of trouble Calvin and Sandra could have encountered on their return trip from the cabin. The Hunters and Westons were adamant that the disappearance was definitely involuntary. They also confirmed the complete lack of enemies that might want to harm either Cal or Sandy.

The Hardys had recently dealt with a case involving Nancy Drew, whose 'disappearance' was also involuntary; but a necessary action so that she would be provided with protection against a contract on her life. Frank and Joe were quite sure the reason behind Cal and Sandy's vanishing act had little to do with any kind of Witness Protection program.

Whatever the case, the brothers knew they had their work cut out for them.

Between the two of them, though, the most upsetting part of the whole case was that an innocent child was involved. It was already appalling to think that Cal and Sandy might have met with a terrible fate - but what sort of monster would harm a newborn baby?


	4. These Dreams

**A/N: A belated Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah to you, my dear readers. Here is chapter IV. Enjoy, even though it's not a merry or happy chapter.**

Nancy Drew knocked surreptitiously on the office door that was discreetly labelled 'Dr. H. Kirkpatrick, PhD'. After waiting a couple seconds, she opened the door quietly and entered the room.

Seated at his desk was Dr. H. Kirkpatrick, PhD, in the flesh.

"Good morning, Detective Drew," he said, and invited her to be seated.

Unsure of how to start the conversation, Nancy sat rather self-consciously in the soft, well-worn brown leather seat opposite Dr. Hank Kirkpatrick, one of the police department psychologists. The windowless office was small but tidy, and painted in a light beige. Inexpensive, but nevertheless impressive watercolour prints of sailboats were tastefully positioned on the walls, prompting Nancy to think that perhaps Dr. Kirkpatrick liked sailing or fishing.

Eight days had passed since the incident at the practice range, and in that time Nancy had been completely unable to return. She called off her recertification indefinitely, knowing that unless she found some way to conquer her sudden inability to handle a gun or even be near live rounds, her career in law enforcement in an official capacity would be over. Not being able to return was a frightening possibility she did not even want to entertain.

Dr. Kirkpatrick was in his mid-forties with a slim build and narrow face. Everything about him reminded Nancy of a horse. His limbs, nose and neck were long. She also noted his slim, tapered fingers. He had thinning, tawny brown hair, brown eyes, a neatly-trimmed goatee and a prominently protruding Adam's apple. The expression he projected was vaguely sympathetic as he tented those long fingers and leaned over, resting his elbows on his desk.

"So how are you feeling today?" Dr. Kirkpatrick asked, initiating the conversation. "It's okay with you if I call you 'Nancy', is it?"

"Go ahead," she responded noncommittally, "and I've been better. Things have been a little difficult after what I experienced at the firing range."

"Why don't you tell me what happened, Nancy?"

_Guess he wants to get down to business right away_, Nancy thought wryly. _No beating around the bush with this guy._

"Well, as you know… I've got to re-certify with my weapons before I can go back on duty…so I was, um, at the range to practice…it's been over a year since I've had to…handle a gun. "

With increasing discomfort, Nancy heard the disjointedness of her words and the hollow ring in her voice; felt a sinking in her spirit. She thought she would be able to speak of the event with cool confidence; that there had been enough distance between the time it occurred and today's meeting. Why did she feel so edgy instead?

Dr. Kirkpatrick nodded at her encouragingly, waiting for her to continue.

"Everything was fine - until a colleague fired off some rounds in the booth right next to me."

Nancy was silent for several beats as she recalled the incident. She felt a prickling in her skin and her pulse quicken.

Dr. Kirkpatrick kept his attention fixed on Nancy and maintained his expectant silence.

"I just don't know what happened!" she burst out in frustration, feeling the weight of his gaze. "I just started feeling so _bad_. I had to run for the bathroom because I was suddenly sick to my stomach. I think I was having a flashback or _something_…of the drive-by shooting last year. I'm at a loss as to what happened to me."

"Nancy, that drive-by shooting was a _significant_ event in your life," Dr. Kirkpatrick stressed his words. "You don't need me to tell you that it changed your life drastically. Life-altering events like what you've experienced leave their imprints on us whether we realise they do or not. You never received counselling, did you, while you were in hiding? Details of your time in the Witness Protection Program are sketchy at best."

"No," Nancy said, shaking her head, "no, I didn't seek 'professional help' while I was in the program. Sure, I had some bad dreams, and I did carry a lot of guilt associated with what happened, because it wasn't just me that was affected. My two best friends were shot that night, too. The FBI had to relocate me numerous times because we had a few close calls where my cover was blown…And God only knows the hell I put my father through, too."

Nancy purposely omitted any further details, especially those regarding the extremely painful break-up she had had with long time boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, which had occurred upon her return. Now wasn't the time to talk about her personal relationships.

"But always on my mind was one goal," Nancy picked up where she left off, "and that was seeing that justice was done. That was my focus. That was one of the things that kept me going. But I certainly didn't experience _anything_ like this while I was on the run - whatever it was that happened."

"You mentioned you'd had some bad dreams then…Do you still have them now that you're back?"

"Yes, I do." Nancy responded with a sigh and a slow nod. "They were pretty frequent when I was gone. When I got back home, they seemed to subside. But after what happened at the practice range, the nightmares have returned in full force. I'm almost afraid to close my eyes at night. They're just more intense than they ever were."

"Can you describe to me what happens in these dreams? Any patterns you can recognize? Recurring themes?"

Nancy balled her sweating hands into fists and flexed her fingers open and closed, then rubbed them on the knees of her slacks in a half-hearted attempt to dry them. She didn't like having to recall those nocturnal terrors, even in the light of day.

"Uh…Okay…it usually starts out that I'm at _Fatelli's_ - the sidewalk café/restaurant I was at when the shooting actually happened. In a lot of the dreams, my friend, George, stands up, and then all of a sudden she's flying forward. I can hear gunshots. The bullets are being fired from a car on the road. The shots are so _loud_…" Nancy shut her eyes for a length of time, as if trying to block out the imaginary sound. "Then, my other friend, Bess…she gets hit, too. I look over, and she's down on the pavement…"

She was shocked and dismayed to realise tears were forming and slowly trickling down her cheeks. "I- I try to find a pulse, because George is there flat on the table, and I know she's bleeding to death…and I can't find a pulse."

Nancy paused to wipe her eyes, and Dr. Kirkpatrick passed her a box of tissues. Nancy gratefully accepted and pulled a few sheets to dab her face. She blew her nose softly before starting again in a voice that was halting and thick with emotion: "The car…it comes speeding back towards us - as if he's going to mow us down. In my mind, I'm panicking now, because if I move George, I'd be doing irreparable damage…if she's even still alive. I know I won't be able to move both George and Bess out of the way in time…The headlights turn on as the car bears down on us, and I'm blinded. Then I usually wake up.

"In another version of the dream, it's my ex-partner, Tom, who's shooting at us. While I'm scrambling to try to help George and Bess, he's all of a sudden right in front of me. Then the scene shifts and we're both in Tom's living room. He points his gun at me - right at my face - and I'm paralysed with fear and I can't budge from my spot on his couch. He's grinning at me, and all he says before he pulls the trigger is '_Say hi to Deb for me, Nancy_'. I hear the sound his gun makes when he shoots, and I always wake up with a start."

"The 'Deb' this dream-Tom mentions, that would be his wife, Dr. Debra Gray, correct?"

"Yes…Tom plea-bargained his way to a less severe sentence for killing her in return for helping them convict Gus Marouelli…I don't know, Dr. Kirkpatrick…maybe I have some secret fear that he'll get out even sooner, and he'll be looking for revenge. Does that sound irrational? "

"Nancy, having these fears is an entirely normal reaction to the trauma you've been through. What we'll do is have you work on some ways of dealing with these fears. Do you have trouble falling back to sleep when you have these dreams?"

"Yes. All the time," she admitted.

"Do you think lack of sleep is going to affect your job performance?"

"Isn't that what _you're_ supposed to assess?"

"You came to me of your own volition, Nancy. This is not an _evaluation_ of your abilities to carry out your duties. This is for you to discuss issues _you_ want to address."

"I see…"

"I'd like you to keep tabs on how well you're sleeping - or not, as the case may be. I may recommend you see your regular doctor for a prescription for something to help you sleep if this problem persists."

Nancy felt an instant stab of alarm. _Drugs? _

"Do you really think that's necessary? I just find the notion of having to _take_ something a bit revolting." _The last thing I need is a dependency on something_.

"Well, there are a variety of ways we can deal with the issue, Nancy. Prescription sleeping pills would be one way. Of course, I can't force you to do something you find abhorrent. It was only a recommendation."

To Nancy's ears, he sounded mildly offended by her negative reaction to his suggestion, but realised she was probably imagining this. Dr. Kirkpatrick was a professional. Surely he met with even more stringent rejections and refusals from other…clients who came to him for help.

Nancy departed from Dr. Kirkpatrick's office at the conclusion of the session feeling only slightly better than when she first went in. She reflected that it was most likely because there was now someone in whom she could confide, even if she didn't find him particularly warm and personable. Weren't psychologists supposed to be compassionate and caring? Oh, well. Dr. Kirkpatrick would do for now. Nancy only hoped they could build a good rapport during their upcoming sessions so that he could help her successfully navigate the turbulence that was presently rocking her world.

>

At approximately 2:45 a.m. the next morning in a suburb of Chicago, emergency crews smashed their way into a home that was already being consumed by a raging fire. Too late to be of any real use, they quickly pulled back due to the intensity of the flames, heat and smoke. Regrettably, crews knew if the owners or any occupants were sleeping in the house, there would be little to no chance they had survived the blaze.

Around 7:00 a.m., when the flames had burned themselves out and the lingering hot spots doused, it was finally safe to enter. It was at that time a terrible discovery was made in the master bedroom: The charred bodies of what was assumed to be the couple that owned the home were found, still in bed. Even more disheartening and infinitely sad was the little body that was found nestled between them.

Neighbours informed investigators, and investigators then confirmed with a quick check of property records that the house indeed belonged to a Marcus and Melanie Shorter, parents of a weeks-old daughter, Meghan.

The bodies of the couple, burned beyond recognition, were still positively identified via dental X-rays. The coroner, knowing that there would be no useful DNA to recover in such an awful burn case, had no qualms about identifying the remains of the infant as those belonging to Meghan Shorter. After all, he had no reason to believe otherwise.

The cause of death in all three fatalities was inconclusive, and the coroner initially surmised it could most likely be due to smoke inhalation, though this theory would change later on.

Fire investigators determined a gas leak coupled with a spark from the water heater pilot light was what originally ignited the deadly fire. Smoke detectors in the house had been of little use, as they were devoid of batteries. This prompted the local Fire Chief to issue the usual public safety bulletin advising everyone to routinely test their smoke detectors. Even so, it was finally thought that the Shorters' deaths were due to the gas that had leaked and filled the house during the night instead of the noxious smoke caused by the fire. Neighbours had indeed reported being awaked by a terrible explosion when the gas flashed. It was a small mercy for the grieving family and friends of the deceased that death came in their sleep.

Investigators could not have known, however, that the tiny infant found with Marcus and Melanie Shorter had died earlier, and under entirely different circumstances.


	5. The Perils of Benefactors

**A/N: While this chapter does not include the Hardys or Nancy, it is an incredibly (I can't stress this enough) important chapter. Skip it and you'll miss some rather pertinent clues and information. (You know me: I seldom write frivolous chapters!) It's an incredibly sad and depressing update, if that were possible after the previous one, but I thought I should warn you. Now, that said, I do promise to return to the Hardys with the next update, since we haven't seen what they've been up to in a while.**

**Ch. 5**

On the same night of the fire, in the chill of the winter darkness, twenty-four-year old Natalia Murray meandered slowly down a cracked, Chicago sidewalk in the shadows of a row of dilapidated buildings. It hadn't snowed in weeks, but there were still a few low piles of dirty, icy crusts leftover from what was ploughed from the streets during the last snowfall.

She felt like a weight had been lifted from her both physically and figuratively, yet coupled with this newfound release was the feeling of terrible sadness tinged with regret. The sadness and regret would pass soon enough, she hoped. Things were probably much better this way, she reasoned to herself, all things considered.

For the first time in a long time, she was also full of hope. Natalia figured she could make a new start now, with the $3000 check she had in the left pocket of her jeans. That would be good enough for first and last months' rent someplace, perhaps, with some left over for groceries…maybe even a decent change of clothes. Yes, new clothes…that was a good idea. With a new, clean wardrobe, maybe she could get a job interview and look her best - even if it was for something like a fast food place. Even a menial position meant a pay check, and with a pay check, she could maintain a bank account, and _that_ would mean a higher level of respectability in the eyes of the rest of the world. From there, the sky was the limit! Oh, the possibilities! Oh, the freedom to plan!

And if after all those essentials were taken care of…if there was a little bit leftover, there _might_ even be enough for…No! Natalia shook her head resolutely. She'd been clean for nine months. Sinking back into those old, bad habits would only bring trouble, and she didn't want to be down and out again. Squandering this, her second chance, would be foolish.

Three months ago, Natalia had been so certain she'd never get out of the hole she'd dug for herself. Everything was going wrong. Sharing a grungy corner underground with other homeless bums in a section of Lower Wacker; panhandling up above in the daylight hours…begging for food money…

One of those mornings three months ago she'd felt so faint, and the pain in her back was so unbearable. Before she knew it, anxious passers-by were gawking at her. A man in an expensive business suit was talking animatedly on his cell phone while someone else was at her side on the ground where she lay, asking her questions - questions that sounded like they were filtering through a bad long-distance connection. An ambulance arrived, and she was loaded on and whisked away to a hospital.

There, emergency room staff had admitted her and the doctors stopped the contractions in time. They agreed to take her on as a charity case.

"How far along are you?" A Dr. Gerry Carmichael had asked when she was awake and alert.

"Six months, I think," Natalia had answered from her bed. "I'm pretty sure, anyway…"

He'd _tsk-_ed under his breath and sighed. "Do you have anyone we can call? The baby's father? Your parents, maybe?"

Natalia had shaken her head. "The baby's father took off five months ago." She gave a small, scornful laugh. "Left when I was out for a spell. Came back to find he'd cleared everything out except some of my clothes. Including our joint bank account, that bastard. Eviction notice on the door, too. He was supposed to be paying the rent. Guess he let it slip. Gave me the slip, too. I don't know where he is. And I don't have any parents."

"Where are you staying now?" Dr. Carmichael asked, not bothering to challenge her on her previous answers.

Natalia remained silent.

"I see…" He'd ignored that lack of response too, then asked sternly: "Have you been using?" His eyes bore into hers, this time without any indication he was going to back down without a straight answer.

Natalia shot him back an indignant look. So, he'd noticed the old track marks on her arms. She'd shaken her head vehemently nevertheless. "No way have I been using!" she'd groused loudly. "Not when I knew there was a baby on the way. I don't do that junk anymore, okay? I know nobody's going to want a druggie baby, or a baby with that fetus-alcohol-whatever-you-call-it…What kind of mom would I be if I did that to my kid?"

"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome," Dr. Carmichael had mumbled under his breath, in a half-hearted effort to correct Natalia, realising the proper phrase would most likely be lost on her. "So, you're planning on carrying this child to term…"

Natalia had stared at him like he was from another planet.

_Duh_, she'd wanted to say.

"I couldn't _get rid _of the baby," she'd said passionately. "I mean, he or she deserves a shot, right? Maybe my kid will be the one to discover the cure for cancer, you know? Or be president one day..."

"Miss Murray," Dr. Carmichael broke in with another sigh, "you're undernourished. You have no permanent address. You can't care for yourself, much less your baby. What plans do you have when it's time for the baby to come? I assume from what you've said you want to place the baby for adoption…Have you contacted an adoption agency of any kind to make arrangements? What do you have in mind for the kind of couple you'd like to take over the raising of this child? Does the father of the baby even know about your plans?"

His questions were delivered in a manner that made Natalia feel like he was hammering them into her head. She'd felt abused and chastened at the same time. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she quickly got hold of her emotions.

"As far as I'm concerned, the baby's father gave up his rights when he walked out on us."

"Mm-hmm…"

"I just kinda thought maybe I'd do a private adoption thing," Natalia remembered saying. "Maybe put an ad in the paper?"

"With what money?" Dr. Carmichael had asked dryly. "Do you know what it costs to place an ad in the paper? Where would you meet potential families: in a filthy gutter or some dive where there are rats and roaches for roommates?"

Natalia had felt tears starting to sting her eyes again. Why was this doctor being so _mean?_

Dr. Carmichael expelled his breath loudly again then, and Natalia thought this was perhaps a habit of his, however disconcerting. He'd sat down on the edge of her bed and looked at her with a rather serious gaze which then seemed to soften.

"I'm sorry, Natalia. I don't intend to come across so harshly. Believe me, I'm only doing it to point out the fact that we live in a harsh world. It's 'look out for number one' in this place. People are going to take advantage of you unless you _plan_."

Natalia had sniffled and given a small nod.

"Now, you say you want to put the baby up for adoption, right? I can help you with that. There's an agency that helps young women in your position."

He'd scribbled an address on a sheet of paper and handed it to her. "It's a clinic of sorts. I want you to go there when you're released. They'll put you up, help with the delivery, and then get the baby to a good home."

"Oh, really, Doctor?" Natalia had cried happily. "They'll really help me?"

"Absolutely. You won't have to pay a cent. It's a privately-funded clinic with ties to a top-notch adoption agency."

She hadn't needed any further convincing.

When Natalia was discharged, Dr. Carmichael had slipped her $50.

"I'm putting my faith in you, Natalia. I know you want to do what's best for the baby. I realise you probably won't be able to make it to that clinic I've recommended right away. In the meantime, you can start by feeding yourself better. Don't waste the money on potato chips and soda, understand? I mean _good_ food, like fruits and veggies and milk. Vitamins, too. Both you and baby need good nutrition. Can you do that until you get to the clinic?"

Natalia had promised that she would, and kept her promise she had.

Later that week, she'd made her way to the clinic Dr. Carmichael had referred her. She found it with some difficulty, and decided it didn't look like much from the outside. She'd been a bit apprehensive based on this first impression, but when she got to the doors, a friendly older woman dressed in a nurse's uniform welcomed her warmly and greeted her by name.

"You _must_ be Natalia!" she had said, beaming. "Dr. Carmichael told us we could expect you. We're so glad you came to us. Too many young women just have no idea where to turn when there's no one to help them through such a difficult time."

Five other young women were having the same 'difficult time' as Natalia, she soon discovered.

The older woman in the nurse's uniform was called 'Trina', and she was apparently in charge of the everyday care of the residents of the clinic, which seemed to Natalia to be more of a residence for the girls, with an Ob/Gyn on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She was fed well, and had a small room with a comfortable bed all to herself. All the amenities, too. Bath with hot water. TV. A kitchen/dinette that the rest of the expectant mothers shared. Regular check-ups for her and the baby were also done on-site. Everything seemed to be going well for both mother and baby, much to Natalia's delight and relief.

Every day, the residents were shown files and pictures of potential adopting couples along with their biographies. These couples were from all over the country, as their pertinent life facts revealed. Some had specific traits and features listed when describing the type of baby they desired to adopt. The other five girls would pore over these, and discuss which ones they thought would be the best fit for their child.

For Natalia, she thought she'd like to maybe meet with some of the couples personally, but was told by Trina that this would be impossible. Something about confidentiality, she had said.

"This isn't going to be an _open_ adoption," Trina had voiced sternly when Natalia pressed the matter and demanded to know the reason why. "I thought Dr. Carmichael explained that to you."

_No, he hadn't explained that part_, Natalia thought defensively. But she didn't want to seem ungrateful. These people were putting her up. They were feeding her and making sure the baby was healthy and developing well.

"Of course, there is the matter of the handsome fee you'll be receiving from the agency as you _are_ the birth mother," Trina had added. "You'll be getting a portion of what these couples will be paying to the agency for their services…You _are_ still willing to give up the baby, aren't you?"

_Yes_, _absolutely,_ Natalia had replied. It was the best for both of them. Like the other five young women, Natalia had finally made her selection from the stack of files of potential adopting couples.

When she went into labour, her thoughts were with the happy couple to whom her child would be going, and fervently hoped she'd chosen well. _The baby's going to a good home,_ Natalia reminded herself, _Dr. Carmichael promised. All those couples are good people._

That was three days ago, now, Natalia reflected, as the streetlight she passed cast an ugly orange glow onto the pavement, only partially dispelling the blackness of the night that seemed to sink around her.

Three days ago, and still there was that ache in her heart.

There had been 'complications' three days ago. The physician in the birthing room had explained that there was some problem with the umbilical cord or the placenta.

Natalia now leaned unsteadily against the light pole. She actually felt quite terrible for the family she'd picked out to be the recipients of this gift of life. There'd be no baby for them now, at least not from her. Natalia was quite grateful that she'd been given the $3000 from the agency, anyway. She felt like she didn't deserve it; that she hadn't lived up to her end of the bargain; that she'd failed everyone: Dr. Carmichael, Trina, the adopting couple, and most of all, the baby girl she had carried for nine months.

Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by everything and began to weep uncontrollably.

_They didn't even let me hold her_. _It didn't matter to me that she was stillborn…I didn't even get to hold her…_She sank to her knees as her sobs became more audible.

Natalia barely noticed when a man approached her and touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Miss, are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

Natalia looked up with her tear-stained face at the man. He was clean-shaven, wearing a heavy topcoat, and was perhaps in his early thirties. Natalia was initially cautious, because this wasn't exactly the safest part of town, and didn't know if she could trust this person.

"I-I'm fine," she managed to say limply. "Please, just leave me alone. I'm fine."

"If you don't mind me saying so, you don't exactly look fine," he replied, cocking his head to one side. "I don't mean that as an insult, you know. I just mean you look like you need a pick-me-up…Look, my name's Brad, and I have to tell you I hate to see a lady cry."

"I'm Natalia," she whispered, and rubbed her face with her sleeve.

"Why don't you come with me? I think I have just the thing to make you feel better."

Brad smiled at her and extended his gloved hand. Like an obedient child, Natalia reached out and let him lead her away.

Accepting kindness and sympathy from this stranger would ultimately prove to be her undoing.

Four hours later, Brad was fishing in Natalia's pockets for the $3000 check. When he found it he pulled out his cell phone. He dialled a number and waited for an answer.

"I've got it," Brad spoke when the other party picked up.

"Good. Destroy it. It can't be found with her when they discover her body."

"Right," Brad said briskly.

"I trust everything went well?"

"Yes," Brad said. "Everything's in place. This one will be written up as just another junkie who got high and OD'd. Nobody's going to give a rat's ass, as always."

"Excellent. That's just how we want it."

Brad ended the call and walked silently to the door, being careful not to disturb any of the drug paraphernalia he'd left scattered about the dingy SRO, or single room occupancy 'suite'. With one last look at the inert body lying on the filthy floor, he left quickly, leaving the door slightly ajar. Really, it didn't matter to him one way or another when someone actually found Natalia. His part of the job was done.

It was pretty pathetic though, he thought, that she'd never know what really happened to her kid. Not that it mattered. No one cared, and no one _would_ care. Society in general was apathetic like that towards nobodys like Natalia and their progeny. Brad smiled to himself. That was why they'd get away with it. After all, they had in the past. And they'd keep getting away with it, too. Of that he was most certain.


	6. On Location

**A/N: Thanks for the patience, folks. As promised, this chapter focuses on what Frank and Joe have been up to. While we're not into the 'action-packed' part of the story yet, information containted within is still vital to the story. Read with due care and attention.**

**Ch. 6**

"What are the chances they joined some weird cult and don't want to be found?" Joe posed this question to Frank.

"Less than none," came Frank's flat reply. He really wasn't in the mood for light banter right now.

For the past week, they'd been retracing Cal and Sandy's steps, mostly along the rural route they would have taken between the city and the cabin and back again.

Since their disappearance had seen some press coverage in many parts of the state, people in the small town nearest the Hunters' family cabin were aware of the situation and most were willing to answer the questions the brothers asked them.

Working for now on the dreaded assumption that the couple and child met with foul play, Frank and Joe tried to ascertain from the locals if they had noticed any strangers in the area, especially any who might have seemed to be particularly interested in the young family.

Unfortunately, as one old-timer had pointed out, with all the cabins and fishing destinations in the surrounding hills and valleys, strangers were _always_ crawling around. Since nearly two months had passed, the brothers knew well that people's memories fade and get distorted with time. If anyone had noticed anything of significance, it was probably long gone from the light of conscious thought.

"Well, they _had_ to have disappeared on the return trip, since they gassed up at the station in town," Joe murmured from the passenger-side seat. "There's just no other way it could have happened."

Frank was taking his turn at the wheel. It wasn't the first time this scenario had been discussed between them, and Frank didn't bother to respond. He knew Joe was repeating it just to keep their objective in mind. It was one of the only facts they were able to hold onto in the frustrating disappearance case.

_Cal and Sandy filled the tank of the Taurus at the gas station. They paid with Cal's credit card. That was the last time anyone remembers seeing them. That was the last time any charges were run up on Cal's card..._

"What if we don't find them?" Joe asked grimly.

Frank felt himself cringing inside. He hadn't wanted to explore the possibility of failure yet. It was still too early to be adopting a defeatist attitude, wasn't it? They hadn't found bodies. That alone was good news, surely. Or was he simply deluding himself? Even though they had been approaching the case as if the couple and child were no longer living, Frank had been unwilling to admit it was the _only_ possibility.

"I never took you for a pessimist, Joe," Frank finally responded.

"Let's face it, Frank, we have _nothing._ It's a big country. Cal and Sandy could be _anywhere._ Dead, alive; Mexico, Canada…nobody remembers seeing anything after they gassed up. No broken-down Taurus on the side of the road. No accidents. No one wandering around the woods with amnesia or something crazy like that. You'd think _someone_ would have noticed a couple with a baby, right?"

A depressing circumstance had been suggested by the police chief when they had been in to see him to ascertain how the initial investigation had been carried out.

"Level with us, Chief. What do you think happened?" Frank had asked.

"Okay, I'll 'level' with you guys," Chief John De Groot said to them. "Sometimes a fella gets tired of playing house. Maybe he offed his wife and kid and ran off with another woman. You'd be surprised how many of these 'disappearances' are domestic in nature. Look at that case in California with the husband who was convicted of killing his pregnant wife and dumping the body in the Bay."

It certainly wasn't the answer Frank and Joe had expected. And to be honest, not one they had even come close to considering.

Noting the surprise on their faces, De Groot continued: "Like I said, some fellas just think they can 'play the field' indefinitely. So when the little wifey gets pregnant and has the baby, he feels trapped, see? No more playtime. So what does he do? He finds himself amusement elsewhere and gets rid of anything standing in his way."

Dumbfounded, Frank and Joe could only stare at him.

"Hey, it's a possibility!" De Groot protested. "Either that, or the wife gets that post-partum depression and does in the child and the husband; maybe even herself, too. Maybe in the end this will turn out to be a murder-suicide. But who really knows? I've been in this business a long time, and I can tell you I've seen it all. There's a lot of ugliness out there. Unspeakable crimes carriedout by folks against their fellow man."

"What about dogs?" Joe inquired. "Did you get a K9 unit or cadaver dogs out?"

"Son, you know how many square miles they'd have to search? We'd have no idea where to even _start_ looking. It's big country out there. No, I'm afraid we just don't have the manpower or budget to conduct a search of that magnitude. If we had found a broken-down car at the side of the road, or some eyewitness account of a car matching the description of the one belonging to the missing couple, then we could have sanctioned a search in that general vicinity. As it is, you are quite well aware we had none of the above."

Back on the road after the meeting with De Groot, Joe was still upset at what the chief had suggested.

"Do you think it's even remotely possible Calvin Hunter would be the sort of man to have a mistress on the side and kill his own wife and child so he could be with that other woman? Why not ask for a divorce at the very least if he wants to leave so bad?"

"I don't know," Frank said, frowning. "As much as I hate to admit it, we really do need to keep an open mind about this and explore every angle. We can ask Callie and the rest of the family if she noticed any tension between Calvin and Sandy…but they're definitely _not _going to appreciate it"

"Cal and Sandra just looked like such a happy couple."

"Agreed," Frank said. "But _looks_ aren't everything. As investigators, we know this. We've seen the same kind of 'ugliness' Chief De Groot was talking about. Shoot. I'd hate to think that when all is said and done, we find out it was something like what De Groot thinks happened."

Upon their return to their office in Bayport, Frank called Callie immediately, and asked her as delicately as possible what she thought of the possibility that Cal and Sandy's marriage could have been in trouble.

"You know, we expected that line of questioning from the police, Frank," Callie said, her tone icy, "but I never thought you'd think for a moment that Danny's brother could be a killer."

Frank sighed heavily. He wasn't in the mood to argue his point. "Just answer the question, please, Callie."

"No. I didn't notice any 'tension' between Cal and Sandy. Sure, they were stressed out because of the baby like most new parents would be, but they were _happy_! They were crazy about each other! I can't believe - I _won't_ believe that Cal would do anything like what you're suggesting. It doesn't make sense. And I don't think Sandra would, either, just for the record."

"Thanks, Callie. I appreciate your honesty. You recognize, of course, it was something I had to ask. I wouldn't be covering all the bases if I didn't. And in a case like this, we can't leave one stone unturned."

"I know," Callie said in a conciliatory tone. "It's just…I feel so _helpless._ Danny's a wreck. It's his baby brother that's out there, missing, and no one knows for sure if he's dead or alive. They're very close. And Danny was so thrilled to be an uncle for the first time…But, Frank, did you find out anything else up there? Anything at all?"

"Nothing that will help us, unfortunately. I'm sorry, Callie. I wish I could give you something to hang onto. When the trail goes cold like this, picking up new clues or leads becomes extremely difficult."

After hanging up, Frank swivelled in his chair to face Joe, who was tapping a pen on his desk, a faraway look on his face.

"There's something bothering me about the car…" Joe said, still staring into nothing.

"What's that?" Frank asked, eager to hear what his brother had to say.

"Martin said that they only drove Sandy's Taurus because the SUV was in the shop getting its tires replaced. Seven cars along the road in Cal and Sandy's neighbourhood had their tires slashed. The Taurus was fine because it was parked in their garage…Do we have any information on that act of vandalism? Did the police ever catch anybody? Any eyewitnesses?"

"Why do you ask? What are you thinking?" Frank felt a quickening of his pulse, sensing that Joe was on to something important.

"First I need to find out one thing," Joe said. "I need to know what sort of security or tracking features they had on the SUV."

"You mean like a Lojack system or GPS locator in case it's been stolen, right?"

"Exactly."

The wheels in Frank's head were turning. He was starting to see where Joe was going with this. "You're working on the assumption that they were _deliberately_ targeted, aren't you?"

Joe nodded. "If we dismiss Chief De Groot's less than flattering solution, it's the only thing that makes sense. What if the tire-slashing _isn't_ a big co-incidence? What if it has _everything_ to do with Cal and Sandy's disappearance? I ask you: Which is easier to remember? A dark green, fairly non-descript sedan, or a good-sized bright red SUV?"

"My money's on the SUV," Frank said.

"Right," Joe responded. "And if that SUV can also be tracked, that makes the chances of it being found much better than a vehicle that doesn't have such a feature."

"Let's get the family on the phone right now to find out."

Frank dialled while Joe sat back in his chair. If his hunch panned out, and the SUV did have a tracking system and Taurus didn't, Joe realised it would be a whole new ballgame. It also opened up a whole new avenue of questions in the disappearance of Cal, Sandra and Andy. They'd been over it dozens of times, and nothingin the Hunters' backgrounds gave the brothers reason to think someone would have a compelling motive to make them vanish. _Which means we're clearly missing something,_ Joe thought, _and it can't be anything good._


	7. The Furlough

**AN: We're back with Nancy in this chapter. If you're not really keen on Nancy, I suppose you can skip this chapter. But be warned you'll miss out on important stuff (as always) like what happened with Nancy and Frank after the conclusion of 'Who's that Girl?'...Standard disclaimer once again: Nancy Drew and Frank and Joe Hardy and all associated characters are not mine; I'm simply borrowing them for my own amusement. The Furlough Bar and all its inhabitants (minus Nancy, of course) belong to Barbara D'Amato. I just can't resist making use of such brillliant characters! Please don't sue, since I don't have any money, anyway. Enjoy the update, folks!**

**Ch. 7**

The Furlough Bar in the First District, near the Central Police Department of Chicago, was open for business, serving the afternoon 'rush'. Besides the cantankerous owner-bartender Mort, and his hired help, Henry, the actual number of patrons was sparse. Primarily the haunt of cops, The Furlough was often CPD officer Suze Figueroa's after-tour stop. Along with her partner, Norman Bennis, they were joined by a few of their off-duty colleagues on this particular afternoon: Kim Duk O'Hara, Sandi Didrickson (a.k.a. 'The Flying None'), and Stanley Mileski. They'd all been on Second Watch, or the hours between 7:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. It was now just after 4:00 p.m.; pretty much 'happy hour' for all concerned.

Suze's full name was Susannah Maria Figueroa, but she much preferred 'Suze' over anything else. Any other variation including 'Susie' just irritated her, and only her mother and her disagreeable brother-in-law, Robert Birch, ever called her 'Susannah'. That, she simply had to tolerate since, well, her mother was her _mother, _and Robert was putting Suze up in his house, along with her young son, JJ.

Suze was sitting at the bar with Bennis, drinking her usual one beer before she shoved off for home. Half Cuban and half Irish, short in stature but brimming with enthusiasm for her job, Suze was a studious, attentive officer with her sights set on moving up in the ranks of the CPD. Along with Bennis, a black officer with a well-built upper torso and ten years more on the force than Suze, they had already built up an impressive solve rate with a couple high-profile cases and arrests on that list.

Suze was only half-listening to the discussion going on around the bar, mainly cops talking cop-talk, and other newsworthy stuff happening around their fair city. She was here to unwind, and while she enjoyed the company of her comrades, part of her wanted to slowly slough off the day's events. Her single beer helped with that.

The door to The Furlough opened, and bright rays of late afternoon sun blazed through and briefly illuminated the dull interior. Suze looked up and saw a face she instantly recognized, but had never before seen within these particular walls. She smiled invitingly and waved the newcomer over to the bar, and addressed everyone:

"Hey, guys, this is Detective Nancy Drew."

This elicited several 'Hellos' and 'How's it goings' from those assembled, and Nancy responded in kind, taking the stool to Suze's right.

"What can I get for you, Detective?" Mort, the bartender asked.

"Just a beer, please," Nancy said. She looked at Suze and said, "Been that kind of day."

"I know just what you mean," Suze replied. "Nancy, I'd like you to meet my partner, Norman Bennis. Norm, this is Nancy."

"Nice to meet you, Nancy," Bennis reached behind Suze, extending his hand to shake Nancy's.

"Nice to meet you, too, Officer Bennis," Nancy said, taking his hand.

"'Norm' works fine," he said.

"Okay, Norm," Nancy replied, smiling. Mort placed Nancy's drink in front of her, and she took a long draught.

"I ran into Nancy the other day at the range," Suze explained to Bennis and the rest of the crew listening. She left out the particulars of that encounter, for which Nancy was silently grateful.

Bennis said, "Heard you were back from the dead, Nancy. You made a lot of waves when your story came out; really shook up some areas of the department, what with all the revelations of corruption and such... What brings you to our distinguished watering hole?"

"Like I said, it's been that kind of day. I don't normally imbibe, but I've been driving past this place for a few years now, and today I just thought: why not?"

Sandi Didrickson, seated nearby, piped up saying: "Nancy, aren't you the one who had that corrupt partner? What was his name…He'd killed that medical examiner. She was his wife, I think…"

Nancy gave a weak smile. "Yeah, that's me, alright."

"Don't mind Sandi," Suze said in a conspiratorial whisper, "she's into her third beer right now. Pretty much wasting her last two brain cells."

Nancy cracked a wry, half-smile in spite of herself. Her experience with corrupt ex-partner and murderer Detective Tom Morrison was not one she cared to dwell on for any length of time. Tom's betrayal over a year ago had nearly cost Nancy her life, and those of her best friends, George Fayne and Bess Marvin.

_More fodder for my talks with Dr. Kirkpatrick_, Nancy thought bitterly: _my eternal guilt for what happened that night…_

"If you don't mind me saying so, Nancy, you look like your best friend just died," Suze commented, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

Nancy took a small sip of her drink before giving an answer. "Nobody died…recently," she finally said. "I've just sort of had to step away from some of my duties for now. I thought I was ready to come back after my time away. But it turns out I still have some things to work through." Nancy turned to Suze, hoping her answer didn't sound as evasive as she thought it did. "Thanks for your concern."

"Sure," Suze said. "You don't have to say another word if you don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Nancy replied appreciatively. "I won't."

"Just sit back and enjoy the _ambience_," Suze said with a grin, waving a hand about. "It's not the fanciest, cleanest or even the prettiest place, but you won't find a better place to celebrate your victories or drown your sorrows than The Furlough. You're among your own kind here."

"Hear, hear!" Bennis chimed in.

With that, Suze raised her glass and downed the last of her beer.

Nancy could feel herself slowly relaxing in the presence of these other police officers. She had tried in the past to keep her personal life separate from her work life; had tried so very hard not to eat-sleep-breathe police work. It was her full immersion into her amateur detective cases that was often a source of friction between her and former beau, Ned Nickerson. Achieving a proper work/life balance was emphasized in the Department in order for officers to be successful and avoid burn-outs. But here, in this very bar, Nancy was with people who had an innate and unspoken understanding of what it was like to work in law enforcement. No civilian would ever be able to fully comprehend it.

The noisy buzz of her own thoughts quieted, and Nancy's ears gradually began to tune into the talk from the others assembled.

"…A couple of the First Watch guys were talking about that fire from the other night," Stanley Mileski was saying.

"I heard about that one," Kim Duk responded. "Pretty bad one, I heard."  
"Yeah. They were actually neighbours from down the street of my sister," Mileski continued. "Whole place was pretty burned up. Parents and a newborn all dead."

"Not the prettiest way to go," Bennis said sombrely.

"They say the smoke probably got 'em first," Mileski said. "No batteries in the smoke detector, though. They family was dead before the fire started."

"Hope so," Bennis replied. "I happen to know from personal experience what it's like to be almost burnt to a crisp in your own place."  
"That was a close call," Suze added.

"It surely was, Suze my man."

Nancy listened to this exchange with near-fascination. It was certainly nothing new for cops to recount the perils faced while on the job, but because she seldom spent time outside of the work environment with others of her profession in social situations, this was surprisingly comforting to hear. She was not the only one who'd had 'close calls', and here were individuals who spoke of them with relative ease and security. The only other time she'd ever felt this sort of connection was when she'd been on cases with Frank and Joe Hardy…_They'd_ understood what it was like…

Frank Hardy…

Nancy sighed and took another long sip. She'd think about Frank Hardy later.

"Time I should be heading out," Suze said, pushing her empty beer glass back across the counter. "Nice seeing you here, Nancy. Don't be a stranger."

"Thanks, Suze. Have a good night." Nancy said, waving good-bye.

"Take care, Suze," Bennis said, "see you tomorrow."

"'Bye, Norm."

Nancy watched Suze leave, and felt a certain affinity for the other cop. It certainly wasn't the easiest thing being a woman in the police department, even though the number of female cops was on the rise. She almost envied the obvious trust, respect and camaraderie plainly shared by Suze and Norm. Nancy thought about how much trust she had put into her own partnership with Tom Morrison. And he had turned on her, destroying what had initially been a very successful partnering with his treachery and deadly deceit.

"You two have been through a lot, haven't you?" Nancy asked Norm.

He gave a short laugh. "Where do I even begin to start? Yeah, you could say we've been through a lot."

"She mentioned to me the other day she'd like to move up to Detective one day."

"Suze loves being a cop. But she knows that if she's promoted, the work commitment is that much greater and stressful. That young lady has a lot on her plate right now. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but she's been through a whole lot of crap in her life. Divorced; left to raise a young son. A sister who's practically an invalid after a horrific car accident. On top of that she's got a crabby brother-in-law who's no help at all, and two teen-aged nieces to deal with. She all but takes care of that entire household and she never complains."

Nancy just sat in silence listening to Norm, thinking how her admiration and estimation of Suze simply as a person just shot up a hundredfold.

"So, you can see how that would sort of interfere with wanting to be a Detective."

"Yes, I can," Nancy replied thoughtfully. While it wasn't as if her own problems paled in comparison to Suze's, Nancy chided herself for her earlier thoughts and feelings of self-pity. She finished her drink and paid for it.

"Thanks for the conversation, Norm," she said, rising from her barstool. "It's about time for me to shove off."

"See you later, Detective," Bennis said.

"Nice meeting all of you," Nancy called out to the rest of the officers. To Norm, she said, "Promise me you'll take good care of that partner of yours, okay?"

Bennis gave her a salute. "I promise."

Nancy climbed into her vehicle, a brand-new red Mazda Miata. Her old, faithful blue Mustang was beyond repair after being dumped in Lake Michigan. It had certainly served her well, putting in yeoman's service through all the car chases, crashes and near-misses in its long life. The Miata's engine roared to life, and Nancy pulled out of the parking lot. It was about 4:30. If she drove without stopping along the way, she could make River Heights in about an hour, traffic conditions permitting.

As the winter sun began its early descent, slipping past the hazy horizon, Nancy wondered how her return to her home town would be perceived. What could she say to those curious about the unexpected sojourn?

_I need more time off._

Well, that was partly true…

_I'm taking a leave of absence._

Sure. A forced one.

_I'm a bundle of nerves and I can't even handle a gun without re-living what happened that night. And I'm seeing a Department psychologist about it, too._

Certainly not the most triumphant return home, she thought ruefully. As it was, only her Dad and Hannah Gruen knew she was coming back into town. How ironic that the last place she'd visit before this return was named _The Furlough_?

Nancy braked slowly as she pulled up behind another car stopped in the snarled rush-hour traffic. She sat back in her seat, a glum expression on her face.

_I just want to be normal again_, she thought sadly, eyeing herself in the rear view mirror. _I just want things to be back to the way they used to be before all this madness. _

As the traffic began to clear and the swiftly approaching darkness settled over the landscape, Nancy all at once wondered what she would have done if she had to live the previous year all over again. The hard choices she'd had to make hurriedly had destroyed her relationship with Ned Nickerson. Of course, her time in hiding had been completely out of her hands…Putting her foot down and demanding she be given a chance to confront Tom Morrison had been one of the few times she'd felt in control in a long time.

And then had come that brief time spent with Frank Hardy. With the support and urging of her best friends, George and Bess, Nancy finally admitted the attraction between her and Frank. She'd gone to see him in Bayport shortly after seeing her ex-partner arrested and charged with first-degree murder, among other various and sundry offences.

The spark of attraction flared and burned brightly for several weeks, but as good and as right as it felt to be in Frank's arms, the flame eventually mellowed and dimmed.

_Fools rush in_, Nancy thought as she recounted the time she'd been in Bayport. She knew she'd have to eventually return to Chicago to her job, and the two of them realised that the nature of a long-distance relationship was a complicated one. Frank, too, began to be plagued with doubts. Always fair-minded and practical, he feared that he might be taking unfair advantage of Nancy, since she was just coming off her crushing break-up with Ned. He did not want to be accused of catching Nancy 'on the re-bound', and forever risk losing out on any chance with her.

It was with regrets that they decided to call off any serious relationship, at least for the time being.

_And now with this latest development, I don't think I'm ready for _any_ kind of relationship,_ Nancy mused. _No one wants to be romantically involved with a head case._

When she pulled into the familiar driveway at quarter to six that night, the sight of the place she called home for such a significant part of her life was like experiencing the warm embrace of an old, dear friend.

She pulled out her keys and opened the front door, calling: "I'm home!" and sincerely hoped that by simply being here, she would finally find healing from the ordeal of the past year, the effects of which she'd ignored at her own peril for far too long.


	8. The Remains of the Day

**AN: Sorry for the lengthy hiatus…I had to make sure I was setting things up just so…And I hope that you're all still excited about the story. Please read and enjoy. From here, things are going to start getting a whole lot more interesting.**

An early morning phone call from Chief DeGroot's office had Frank and Joe dashing out towards a region in the Adirondacks. The message had been simple: a resident of the area had come forward with information that may or may not be pertinent to their missing-persons case.

After consulting with the Hunters and the Westons, it was agreed the Hardys would go on ahead and call back with results, whatever they may be. They realised there was little sense in bringing everyone up if it turned out to be a false alarm.

"I certainly don't like it," Joe said, shaking his head. "I have a very bad feeling about this."

"Me, too," Frank said. He felt a curious oppression of spirit, and was having a hard time keeping negative thoughts at bay.

When they arrived in the small town of Meritsville, the deputy at the police station directed them along a rural route they had travelled only days before while retracing Calvin and Sandra Hunter's moves.

"You'll find units parked along the side of the road after a fifteen-twenty minute drive or so," the deputy named Peter Van der Beek advised, "Chief De Groot's been out there for a few hours now. He told me you two would have hot-footed it out here."

"Can you tell us anything more about why we were called down here?" Frank asked.

"We had one of the locals drop by early this morning," Van der Beek said. "He'd been sitting on some, er, information for a little while. Said he didn't want to get in trouble. Guess the story about the missing family and his own conscience finally ate away at him."  
"What do you mean?" Joe queried, trying to keep the excitement in his voice under control, as he sensed they were about to get a huge break in their investigation.

"I don't have all the details," the deputy responded, "but it sounds like the guy stumbled upon something while he was out in the bush with his hunting dog."

Van der Beek must have caught the brothers' dumbfounded expressions, so he elaborated.

"He was out _in the woods _with his _hunting_ dog…and he didn't have a _hunting permit_."

"Oh…" Frank and Joe said simultaneously.

"Near as we can tell," Van der Beek continued, "the dog probably uncovered something out there."

_Human remains?_ the investigators looked at each other, and without exchanging a word, knew the same thought was flashing through their minds.

Back in their car, Frank and Joe made the twenty-minute drive to the site in silence. Neither wanted to acknowledge that it would be a devastating conclusion to the search if the '_something_' the hunter's dog had uncovered indeed turned out to be Callie's missing relatives. Of course it would mean the search would be over, but it would then mean the start to an entirely new quest: the search for their killer or killers.

True to the deputy's word, the Hardys found several police cars and a coroner's van off to the side of the road. A lone officer, conspicuous in a lime green vest with reflective stripes, was directing whatever traffic passed through. He was in the middle of waving their car through when Frank rolled down his window and called the officer over.

"We were called down to this location by Chief De Groot," Frank said when the officer approached.

"You guys Frank and Joe Hardy, then?" the officer gruffly asked, peering inside to get a closer look at the brothers.

"That's us," Joe piped up.

"IDs?"

They flashed their private investigator's licenses.

After scrutinizing them for a spell, the officer gave a satisfied grunt and a nod, and showed them an out-of-the-way place to park their car. He pulled his radio to his mouth and presumably announced to De Groot that Frank and Joe had arrived, and were making their way to the site the unlicensed hunter's dog discovered.

>

In another state southwest of the Hardy's location, another discovery was at hand.

Half-way through their tour, Chicago Police officers Norm Bennis and Suze Figueroa were sent by Dispatch to check on a 'suspicious smell' coming from a room in a SRO.

The partners were being led down a dim hall towards a room by a large, barrel-chested man wearing tattered sweatpants and a flannel shirt that he chose not to button up.

"Smells like something _died_ in there, if ya know what I'm sayin'!" he said, waving his hand in front of his face; his nose turned up in disgust.

"Yeah, we know," Norm replied dryly.

"Or rather, my _nose_ knows," Suze muttered under her breath.

As they walked, the man, who gave his name as Sheldon, kept up with a light chatter. "'Course, it could just be a rat or cat or something got trapped in there and died. Once had someone keeping _rabbits_, if you believe it. Then there was the guy with the snake…But I figured I'd better call the cops about this one just to be on the safe side, right?"

"And who says people in Chicago don't exercise their civic duty?" Suze said with a tight smile.

Litter was scattered about on the cracked linoleum, and one overhead fluorescent light flickered and blinked rhythmically, sending dismal shadows dancing as the three passed beneath it.

A heavy, oppressive odour permeated the place. It was a distinctive smell; one that was certainly not unfamiliar to Suze and Norm.

Sheldon stopped short, and turned to face them.

"It's comin' from in _there_," he said in a whisper, jerking his thumb in the direction of the last door on the left. "Just 'cause I mind the place don't mean I hafta look in on the tenants, see?" He held his breath and remained several feet away from the offending room.

Norm approached the door, which he observed was open a crack. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door three times and called out loudly:

"This is the police! Is anyone in there?"

"Police! If you're in there, please respond!" Suze raised her voice.

When there was no answer after a few repeated calls, Suze shook her head, indicating the time had come to enter the room.

Pushing lightly on the door, Norm took care not to touch the knob, just in case it was important to lift fingerprints from it at a later time.

The stench was utterly overpowering when they finally stepped inside.

"It's something dead, alright," Suze said with a sigh, "and it's definitely of the human species. Let's call it in."

>

Nancy Drew opened her eyes and for a split second felt slightly disoriented. _This is my old room_, she told herself as the fog of sleep gradually lifted, and familiar keepsakes, pictures and bedroom furnishings came into focus. After a noiseless yawn, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed and just remained there, seated on the edge.

A long-buried memory of another morning surfaced so suddenly, Nancy was almost shocked by its clarity. It was of her deceased mother, Elizabeth, and one of few truly clear memories Nancy had been able to hold onto through the intervening years.

_I haven't thought about this one in a long, long time_, Nancy mused. It was a very pleasant recollection from when Nancy must have been about two or three, when Elizabeth had slipped quietly into the nursery room to wake her sleeping daughter. Nancy smiled as she remembered she'd already been awake, but was pretending to sleep just so she could hear her mother's soft, coaxing voice gently urging her to get up.

"_Come on, sleepyhead, it's morning."_

_Her mother's hand, a comforting caress, stroked Nancy's head and smoothed her red-gold hair. Her lips, feather-soft, brushed her daughter's cheek, still fleshy with the chubbiness from her babyhood. My, but that tickled! Nancy had been unable to contain her giggles. _

"_Mommy, that tickles me!"_

"_Oh, look at that!" Elizabeth said, feigning surprise, "she's awake!"_

"_I tricked you, didn't I?" Nancy said, pulling herself up from her pillow._

"_Yes, you did, sweetheart. You're just too clever for me." Laughing delightedly, Elizabeth gathered her daughter up in her arms, and Nancy snuggled comfortably against her, head tucked securely under her mother's chin._

"_I love you, Mommy!"_

"_I love you, too, darling."_

The vision was gone after that tender moment, and back in the present, Nancy realised with a small twinge of sadness that Elizabeth Drew had suffered a fatal heart attack only weeks later.

Her mother's sudden passing, while tragic in the sense that she had died young, was never something Nancy considered to be an emotional burden. Of course, there were times when she wished for her mother's presence: her first date; prom; graduation - especially from the Police Academy - plus all the big milestones in the normal course of life: developmental, social, and educational. And while her father tried to be present, he was kept busy with his thriving criminal law practice.

For what was not the first time, Nancy once again reflected what a blessing Hannah Gruen was to the small unit that was the Drew family. Hannah had _never_ tried to replace Elizabeth, but had indeed filled the role of a mother-figure in Nancy's life. In fact, Hannah, in her own way, had kept Elizabeth's memory alive.

As a little girl, saying her bedtime prayers, Hannah often liked to remind Nancy that Elizabeth was like a special angel now, watching over her and looking out for her, even if Nancy couldn't see her or hear her. For the number of close calls she'd had throughout her life, Nancy was almost certain Hannah was right about that.

_Only now, _Nancy thought, _I must have run out of divine protection a long time ago. _Making a concerted effort to get up, she crossed the room and continued on with her usual morning bathroom ritual.

_I wonder what my mother would have to say about the path I've chosen for myself if she were alive today? _Nancy asked herself as she washed her face and gazed at herself in the mirror. _Would I even have gone into law enforcement? Would I have even been allowed to follow whatever cases came my way as a teenager, no matter how dangerous?_

Frank and Joe Hardy had both their father and mother in their lives, plus an overbearing aunt…_But then, Fenton was a former detective with the NYPD, and let's face it_, Nancy thought, _they're males. And they're brothers. They'd always have each other to rely on in a case. _

Nancy smiled ruefully. _Just can't keep your thoughts from creeping back to Frank Hardy, can you? _She felt a familiar heartache, bringing with it a sadness she dearly hoped would not linger for the rest of the day.

Yes, she had feelings for the elder Hardy. Yet, somewhere in the dark recesses of her soul, she wondered if somehow she could still manage to salvage things with Ned Nickerson. The total _unfairness_ of it all weighed heavily upon her.

_I had everything taken away from me last year. My identity, the life I loved, the friends I loved, the job I loved, the home I loved, and the man I loved…None of those things have been restored to the way they were before_. _Do I even want to keep doing any of this anymore? Last years' events brought nothing but misery for everyone involved. Maybe it just isn't worth it._

Nancy knew the time was fast approaching when she would have to take a long, hard look at her life, and make some serious decisions. _But not on an empty stomach_, she thought with a wry smile. Downstairs in the kitchen, Hannah had prepared breakfast, and remarked how good it was to have Nancy back in the house again.

"It's good to be back," Nancy replied, giving the housekeeper a quick peck on the cheek. "I can't tell you how much I've really missed you and Dad…Those few days I had here when I got back from San Francisco just weren't enough. And I've missed your cooking, too." Hannah smiled and placed a plate of blueberry pancakes with sausages on the side on the table.

Nancy pulled the day's edition of the _Chicago Tribune_ towards her and quickly scanned the headlines. A by-line by her long-time friend, Ann Granger, formerly of the River Heights _Morning Record_, caught Nancy's attention. Nancy read the investigative reporter's account of a deadly house fire that had taken place in Chicago that had claimed the lives of three members of the family, including a newborn baby daughter. Ann had spoken with the fire chief and arson investigators, and both concluded that the fire was a direct result of a gas leak, and that the three members of the Shorter family were probably already dead by the time the placed burned. The basement burned first, eventually consuming the ground level. The fire chief also noted that smoke detectors in the house didn't have any batteries. Nancy quickly took note of the next few lines Ann had written, and inhaled sharply when she realised the implications. Ann had also spoken with the parents of Marcus Shorter, and they had adamantly refused to believe the fire was accidental. Mr. Nigel Shorter was quoted by Ann in this way:

" '_When my son was seven, there was a fire at our apartment complex. Over one hundred people were made homeless that night. Ever since then, he's been terrified of fire. He'd been obsessive about fire-prevention since then. He even kept a fire extinguisher in his bedroom closet, and made the family do fire drills when we got a new place. And if there's _one thing in this world_ he would have made damn sure of, it would be that the smoke detectors in his house were in perfect, working order!'"_


	9. The Blessings of Parasites

**_A/N: _Sorry for the delay, folks. This chapter might make some squeamish due to certain subject-matter. It should be no worse than topics usually covered in such shows as the '_CSI' _TV-show franchises, so if that's not your particular cup of tea, you may skip this chapter. (Be aware, though, that you'll once again be missing important info.) Hope you enjoy. Kindly let me know if you think I've crossed the line as far as decency standards are concerned, as I so try to take my readers' sensibilities into consideration as I write these things. Thanks.**

_**9.**_

Excavation.

Flashes from the crime scene photographer's camera at each stage.

Muted conversations and observations regarding the site between the police chief and the forensics experts called upon for the gruesome task.

Frank and Joe took all this in as they approached, heartsick at the prospect that the remains presently being unearthed belonged to Calvin, Sandra and Andrew Hunter.

Chief De Groot noticed the young investigators approaching, his expression grim; eyes downcast and pensive.

"Thanks for coming down," he managed to say, and wasted no time confirming what they'd feared all along: "Clothes match the description of your missing couple. We just pulled out a wallet from the pockets of one of them…I.D. says it belongs to one Calvin Stuart Hunter."

Frank inhaled sharply. Joe felt his shoulders slump in defeat.

So that was it. They could see the 'graves' several yards ahead still, but couldn't yet see inside them. On the other hand, the sight of the decaying bodies probably wasn't such a great idea, anyway.

"Chief," Frank suddenly piped up, "what about the baby? Their son, Andrew…has there been a recovery?"

De Groot shot a look back at the graves. "No sign of that yet. Just the adults. Could be in a different location…"

A new, disquieting thought crossed Joe's mind. "Do you think…scavengers might have…dug…and carried it off?"

"It's possible," De Groot said with a slight frown, then rubbed the back of his neck. "We know this particular area was disturbed by the hunting dog, but the owner claims he piled the dirt back on when he saw a hand coming up with the dog's digging efforts. Those graves are about two feet deep. Probably the most the killer or killers were able to manage since the ground was still pretty hard from the winter freeze. Most cadaver dogs won't be able to sniff out something buried much deeper than that in a general sweep of the area, never mind predators. It's fortunate that dog was out here in the end, I guess. We might've never found 'em."

"Glad he's looking on the _bright_ side," Joe muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"I'll be getting in touch with the family shortly," De Groot said, ignoring Joe's comment.

"No," Frank interjected, "no…I'd rather do it myself. I promised them I would."

"Suit yourself," De Groot answered, and almost looked relieved that he didn't have to be the one to bring bad news to the affected families.

"Chief," Joe spoke up, "any cause of death been determined yet?"

"Nothing yet. They're about to get the bodies out of here for autopsy. But the clothes do appear to be bloodstained. I expect we'll find evidence of some sort of violent trauma, sad to say."

For a moment, Frank wanted to point out that this discovery obviously discredited any theory that Calvin Hunter was a bored or unfaithful spouse capable of murdering Sandra and his infant son. But he thought better of bringing it up.

"I think we're done here, Joe," he said to his brother. "Chief, please call us the minute you get the autopsy results, or if you turn up the body of the baby."

"Will do," the other man replied. "And I just want to say I'm real sorry for what happened to your friends and all. We'll do everything we can to get the folks who did this."

"And so will we," Frank said with conviction. "We'll talk later."

The brothers climbed back into the car, and Frank decided he would make the call right then on his cell phone. He honestly didn't know what he was going to say. As if echoing his thoughts, Joe said: "How are we going to break it to them that we've found Cal and Sandy, but not the baby?"

"Yeah, I know," Frank said softly. "And if baby Andrew isn't here, _then where is he_?"

xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx xx

Officer Suze Figueroa knew that after the Area Detectives took over, her role in the discovery of the 'Jane Doe' in the filthy room was pretty much finished. She and partner Norm Bennis would file their report at the end of their tour, as they were first on the scene. Not that it was any big case, of course. From the drug paraphernalia scattered around the room, everything pointed towards a drug overdose. No signs of violence to the body or any sort of struggle were evident. But my, how she wanted to be in on the investigation, just for the hell of it! Not for the first time, she felt she could do so much more if she was a detective. Handing over the reins to someone else made her feel almost cheated.

Not so long ago, in an unusual but not unprecedented move, she and several other patrol cops had been made acting detectives for a brief period to cover the work load of a severely incapacitated detective corps. In that time, she and Bennis had stumbled upon a series of seemingly random deaths that turned out to be the work of a serial killer. In that newly elevated (but temporary) status, they were expected to do all the work of a detective, and Suze had loved almost every minute of the investigation that ensued.

It had been hard to resume her normal beat cop role once the regular detectives were able to return to the active duty roster.

But surely there would be nothing wrong having a few words with the medical examiner handling the 'Jane Doe' autopsy, even if Suze wasn't a detective assigned to the case…

She wished right then that Nancy Drew was in her Area. In the CPD, there were 25 Districts, and each were divided into five separate detective Areas. Suze, being assigned to the First District - also known as 'Central' - was in Area _Four_. She had asked around, and found out Nancy Drew had been working out of District 19 - also known as 'Belmont' - which meant she was an Area _Three_ detective. Different Areas; different case assignments.

Suze had a feeling, though, that Nancy wouldn't mind discussing a case if she happened to ask about it. It was then she remembered Nancy saying something about 'stepping away' from her duties for a while the afternoon they'd met at _The Furlough_. Suze fleetingly wondered what that was all about, and silently hoped all was going well with Nancy, whatever it may be.

Thinking back to the sight of the dead body and the room, Suze recalled being glad they'd been called to check it out _before_ their lunch break, which generally happened at the mid-point of their tour. Not that she got queasy easily, but the stench had been pretty bad…plus all the _bugs_ that had managed to find a way in there, in spite of the cool late-Winter temperatures…It was obvious the body had been there for a few days.

She came to a decision. She'd skip her usual one beer at the end of her tour and pay a quick visit to the Cook County Medical Examiner's on West Harrison. Maybe even Bennis would want to tag along. It was odd, really, but there was just something about that Jane Doe that got under Suze's skin…

When Suze arrived at the Medical Examiners' building after her tour, the post-mortem on the 'Jane Doe' was already underway. Dr. Shawn Redding was conducting the external examination of the remains, making comments about his findings into a microphone as he worked.

Bennis had begged off, deciding instead to proceed with his usual routine of sharing a few beers with his colleagues, so Suze was alone on this trip.

Dr. Redding stopped what he was doing when Suze entered the lab.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked uninterestedly.

"I'm Suze Figueroa. I just wanted to observe," she replied, somewhat uncertainly.

"Any particular reason, Suze Fig-where-o-ah?"

"Well, me and my partner were FOS," Suze responded, meaning First On Scene.

"So?"

"So, I just wanted to follow up," Suze said.

Dr. Redding, a 40-ish man with rimless glasses sitting crookedly on a nose with a noticeably deviated septum and a face with angular features, looked up at her for a few moments. "You've never seen an autopsy before, or something? Don't you have anything better to do? I'll be very busy. I'm not going to have time to answer any puerile questions."

Suze tried not to sound indignant. "No, I've observed a few autopsies, doctor; I was just here to see if you turned up anything…unusual."

"You're not a detective; you don't need to be here."

"Look, can I watch, or not?" Suze countered, letting her exasperation get the better of her. "I'm not going to get sick, or make childish comments. Plus, I need to head for home in an hour, anyway."

"You can _watch_," he grudgingly replied after a pause. "Just don't get in my way. And don't _touch_ anything, for God's sake, alright?"

Suze gave a curt nod, and positioned herself in the room well away from Dr. Redding's working area, but would still allow her a view of the proceedings.

"Have we gotten an ID on the body yet?" Suze asked.

"I thought you weren't going to ask any questions," Dr. Redding snapped.

"I said I wasn't going to ask any _childish _questions," Suze shot back.

"We got a hit off AFIS," he said, meaning the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. "Her name's Natalia Murray."

"So she had priors," Suze mused thoughtfully.

"If you're going to keep talking like this, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said, fixing his gaze steadily on her.

Suze shut her mouth and bit back a curt reply. This was perhaps the _least_ helpful examiner she'd ever met. _Probably thinks I'm less than dirt since I'm just a patrol cop and not a detective,_ she thought angrily. She folded her arms and instead tried to pay attention Dr. Redding as he added vocal notes to the autopsy recording about his findings.

He commented on the presence of a species of winter gnats on the clothes and body, and called a name Suze couldn't hope to spell. "They appear to be _Trichocera regelationis_," he said, "but I'll need a forensic entomologist to be certain." He put aside a sample of one specimen of the insect in a small test tube and stoppered it.

"No blowflies?" Suze asked, then quickly remembered Dr. Redding had wanted no questions.

"Not in the winter," he said, surprising Suze that he even bothered to answer. "Might find a few yet, because blowflies tend to move to indoor places when it gets cold…our girl was found inside…but they'd mostly have concentrated on the facial region…These insects are mostly attracted to bodily fluids like blood. They can help us determine if there's been a break in the skin from a stab wound, say, or if there's been rape. The insects will congregate in those areas of trauma."

"Can you tell how long she's been dead?"

"Considering the rate of decay, my early estimate is three to four days," Dr. Redding said, moving about the corpse, getting ready to start making the customary 'Y'-incision. "But I'll know more once I analyse things like stomach contents. The bugs, of course, will probably also come in handy."

His scalpel sliced neatly though the dead flesh.

Suze at once wanted to look away, but knew no further harm was being done to the person that was once a young woman named Natalia Murray. She realised that now that he was actually working, Dr. Redding's tongue was loose, and he was more willing to speak about what he was doing. Maybe he'd finally been convinced she wasn't here as some sort of joke or prank.

She watched with interest as internal organs were removed and weighed, and how carefully everything was documented by Dr. Redding.

"The body was found with the usual trappings of a drug addict, no?"

Suze barely realised he was addressing her. "Uh, that's right. Why do you ask?"

"Some studies have found that certain insects have shown a faster rate of growth after feeding on decaying tissue that had traces of substances like cocaine...wouldn't want to make the mistake of using the rate of development in some of these insects to gauge the length of time the body's been lying around without confirming the presence of drugs."

"I'm not sure I follow," Suze said.

"We can use the stages of development of insects to tell us approximately how long someone's been dead. It's called forensic entomology."

"Yes, I know that," Suze said, "that's why I asked about blowflies."

"Right…Getting back to what I was saying: If that rate of growth for the insects has somehow been expedited due to the ingestion of cocaine, say, then we'd have to make sure we knew exactly _how_ much the drugs affected this accelerated growth rate."

"Are you going to request a toxicology report, then?"

"No."

"Why not? I thought you just said you'd need to know for sure about the presence of drugs accumulated in the decaying tissues-"

"That's _if_ I was going to be using these insects as the sole basis for my determination of time since death," Dr. Redding said. "Which I'm not. Tox screens are costly, you know."

_Oh, I know_, Suze thought sullenly, thinking back with distaste to the cases she'd worked as an acting detective. She and Norm had been called to the carpet for requesting the expensive tests for what the Department deemed was a waste of resources. She folded her arms again, mentally berating herself for coming in the first place. This would just be another routine autopsy on a woman whose lifestyle had caught up with her. What a waste!

"Hmm…" Dr. Redding gave a surprised murmur.

"What?" Suze asked, alert once again.

"It appears our Miss Murray recently gave birth."

"Really!" Suze exclaimed. "How can you tell?"

"She's had an episiotomy…I can still tell the incision hadn't completely healed at the time of death."

Suze was considering this silently.

"An episiotomy is when -" Dr. Redding began to explain.

"I _know_ what an _episiotomy_ is," Suze said with impatience, a grimace on her face. "My Ob/Gyn made it sound so…innocuous… 'A surgical incision to help facilitate childbirth' is how it was put to me when I was going to give birth to my son, JJ."

"Not an inaccurate description of the procedure," Dr. Redding commented.

"Your bedside manner stinks, Dr. Redding," Suze said, annoyed he showed little to no empathy towards what for her had been an unpleasant experience.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I don't _need_ to be pleasant when it comes to my 'patients', Officer Figueroa."

"OK, fine, whatever," Suze said gritting her teeth, deciding to let Dr. Redding's obviously intrinsic lack of compassion drop, "but the question now is this: if Natalia Murray recently gave birth, then _where's the baby?_"

**A/N: To my Nancy fans: I promise to get back to River Heights with the next chapter!**


	10. Burden of Bad News

**A/N: Apologies for the delay. The site was being ornery and I couldn't upload when I wanted to. As promised, I've returned to Nancy for a little bit. Things are also getting interesting for the Hardys. Please read thoroughly and enjoy!**

Chapter 10

"You've got that _look_ in your eye," Hannah Gruen said, with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Nancy looked up from the _Chicago Tribune_ piece she had been reading, realising she'd been lost in her thoughts; her plate of food half-finished.

"What look?" Nancy asked innocently.

"The _look_ that you get when you're thinking hard about a difficult case," the older woman responded. "I've seen it too many times over the years, Nancy Drew! Something's caught your attention, hasn't it?"

Nancy frowned and folded the paper. "In a way, I guess," she said. "Ann Granger - you remember her - she once retained Dad to defend her when she refused to reveal one of her sources…"

Hannah nodded, sat down opposite Nancy, and said: "I remember. She used to write for the _Morning Record._"

"Right," Nancy said, and passed the paper to the other woman to read. "I think she's turned up something interesting here. It looks like Ann's found some discrepancies in a deadly house fire in Chicago. Skip to the part where she interviews the family members."

Hannah scanned the contents of the paper. "Hmm…"

"Now, I know that those arson investigators found a cause for the fire and everything, but I wonder if that's just a smokescreen, if you'll pardon the pun."

"Why would they do that?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know," Nancy said with a shrug. "Maybe something else is going on that they don't want publicized just yet. There could be some details they don't want getting out if it's a criminal investigation. _We_ do it all the time as a police department when we don't want sensitive stuff getting out…We use the media to release false or misleading information if we think it will help us catch the real criminals."

"Nancy," Hannah said in a warning voice, "you're not thinking of involving yourself in this, are you? I thought you were home so you could have time _away_ from that sort of thing."

For a moment, Nancy was conflicted. She had a desire to follow up on the article with Ann, yet what Hannah said also had a grounding effect.

"You're right, Hannah," she finally said. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sure they have everything under control with that case. Besides, what do I know about arson investigations?"

Hannah smiled and re-folded the section of the paper.

Nancy went back to eating the remains of her breakfast, still tasty even though cold. She knew however, that no matter how hard she tried to push thoughts of the dead members of the Shorter family from her mind, the more they would gnaw at her. While not stated explicitly, Ann's piece had raised too many unanswered questions. _I might not get around to it today,_ Nancy thought as she read through the comic strips, _but I have a feeling I'm going to be catching up with Ann very soon._

xx xx xx xx xx xx

Frank sat in the passenger-side seat, cell phone in hand. Chief De Groot managed to catch them before Joe started the car. He'd wanted to ensure Frank was still comfortable taking on the role of informing the Hunters and Westons of the unfolding tragedy. He also offered his assistance, indicating he could send one of this staff along with them as an official representative of the Meritsville department.

"I just don't feel right you doing it on your own," De Groot said. "There's ways we handle the delivery of such delicate information. It's best done _in person._"

"I told them I'd call back with news…I don't want them to think I was holding back on them." Frank said solemnly.

"Well, you're the one they've entrusted for this investigation…and you know the family better than I ever could. Please tell them I will still be in touch as far as arranging for the release of the bodies and such."

Frank winced.

"…And I just really want to impress upon you it's been my experience that _nobody_ likes being told over the phone that a loved one is dead."

Frank's thumb was now resting on the tiny power button on the cell; his thoughts a maelstrom of conflicting words, phrases and euphemisms. His body swayed with the gentle motion of the moving car. His gaze was fixed steadily on the blank face of the phone when everything seemed to turn cloudy and unfocused. Tears.

"Hey," Joe's voice was a gentle tone. "Frank, are you OK?"

"I can't do it, Joe. How can I call those families and tell them about…about _this_? I must have been out of my mind to think I could!"

"We'll tell them together. They're all waiting at Callie's for any updates from us, anyway."

Frank closed his eyes and took a deep breath and turned to his brother gratefully. He pocketed the phone. "Thanks, Joe. Sorry I lost it there."

"People are _dead_, Frank. And we're pretty sure they're dead because someone murdered them. No one's going to think any less of you for grieving for them."

Frank nodded and rubbed his eyes. "You're right. Thanks."

Joe turned his attention back to the road and switched on his lights in order to achieve better visibility in the falling darkness. They were just leaving Meritsville limits when Joe's own cell phone began its jangle. Joe slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder to answer.

"Joe Hardy speaking," he answered.

"Mr. Hardy, this is Detective Kit Faulkner of the NYPD calling…You were inquiring about the case of vandalism involving the tire-slashing, right?"

"Yes! Did you find out anything, detective?"

"As a matter of fact, something slightly abnormal did show up upon closer investigation of all seven affected vehicles," Detective Faulkner said. "While the tires on the seven vehicles were indeed slashed, the red SUV in question had its tires slashed in a markedly different fashion."

"What do you mean?" Joe asked, with Frank leaning in close to pick up snippets of the conversation.

"I mean that it looks like someone was _really_ determined to make sure that SUV wouldn't be going anywhere. The other six vehicles had what we could rightly call superficial slashes. A few here and there were deep, of course, and we mightn't have noticed the difference on casual inspection."

"So what you're saying is-"

"I'm saying that _all _the gouges were definitely deeper and more numerous on the SUV. And I can tell you it doesn't look like any 'random' incident to me."

xx xx xx xx xx xx xx

A tall man in his early 30's, clean-shaven and wearing a dark-colored topcoat flipped open his cell phone and dialled an unlisted number. The call filtered through a secure line and he waited for the other party to pick up.

"What is it, Brad?" came the voice he was expecting.

"We have a problem."

"Where are you? What kind of 'problem'?"

"I'm back in upstate New York," Brad responded. "I've been keeping an eye on the developments regarding the Hunter case. Police up in Meritsville just found the bodies."

There was silence for a few moments.

Brad knew his news was unwelcome, but nevertheless needed to be reported.

"We are still in possession of the child's items of clothing from that first night," Brad's party said. "We keep such things for occasions such as this."

"What do you want me to do?" Brad asked.

"Have you ever heard the story of Joseph in the Old Testament? His jealous brothers sold him into slavery and dipped his coat in the blood of an animal so their father would believe his beloved son was dead. We'll get a sample of the child's blood. You will then plant the child's clothes in an area that will make it easy for authorities to find, since they will undoubtedly be searching for any evidence of the child."

"Understood," Brad said with a grin. Then his demeanour changed, as the second reason for his call came to mind. "Uh, there _is_ something else, though…"

"What?" the other voice sounded almost exasperated.

"The cops in Meritsville weren't alone. Some outsiders have been poking around. Two young men. Looks like they've got the full cooperation of the authorities, too."

"Who are they?" The other voice was suddenly more alert.

"I don't know yet," Brad said sheepishly. He silently rebuked himself, realising he should have been more prepared.

"Then _find out_!"

Brad had to put some distance between his ear and his phone. The shouted reply was expected, as was the volume with which it was delivered.

"I'll get right on it," Brad said, his tone placating.

"Good. Let me know if you require any additional assistance. Eliminating them shouldn't be a problem if it becomes necessary, of course…"

"Of course," Brad concurred, and terminated the call.

xx xx xx xx xx xx xx

"Frank! Joe! What are you doing here? I thought you were going to call…" Callie's face held a look of momentary confusion; her voice carried an anxious edge.

The Hardys had just arrived from their trip into Meritsville, and had resignedly but dutifully made their way to Callie and Daniel Hunter's home.

They entered the house, and saw the assembled members of the Hunter and Weston families staring at them expectantly; some with wide, hopeful eyes. Others were downcast and pensive.

"What is it? Do you have news? What did you find out?" Callie peppered them with questions.

Frank said, "Callie…please…"

She took the cue and was silent.

"Everyone, please have a seat," Frank instructed as calmly as he could, all the while knowing he was staring disaster in the face. He was fully aware that the next few words that would spill from his mouth would bring untold grief and agony to those he was facing. But knowing that Joe was there, helping him shoulder the burden was something of a comfort.

"I won't _sit!_" Roberta Weston declared defiantly. "I won't! You tell us now what you know, Frank."

Frank looked at her helplessly. "Please…" was all he could allow himself to say. He wanted to say _It's for your own good_, butheld his tongue. He saw her husband, Larry, take her hand and whisper something softly to her. By now, she was shaking visibly, and was on the verge of tears. Clearly, she was expecting the worst.

"You found them, didn't you?" Martin Hunter ventured quietly. It was more a statement than a question. His wife, Janice, gripped his hands and pursed her lips. Callie also held her husband's hands, fingers intertwined.

"Yes." Frank said simply, in reply to Martin's question. "The Meritsville police uncovered two bodies that were buried in two pits. The clothes match the descriptions they were given. The identification on one was confirmed to be Cal's. I'm sorry."

The shocked and horrified responses to this revelation all seemed to happen at once:

"Oh, God!" Roberta exclaimed, and her knees buckled. Larry held her, and she managed to pull herself back up. He ushered her to an empty sofa and she buried her head in his shoulder, barely succeeding in muffling her sobs.

"No," Jodi Weston whispered, uncomprehendingly shaking her head, "how could this have happened?"

"He was my baby brother," Danny said vacantly. "He was my only brother…" Callie was weeping softly, her arms now encircling her husband's shoulders in a comforting gesture.

Janice Hunter sat as still as a sculpture with a dazed expression on her face. Martin's face was briefly contorted in a mixture of emotional pain and resignation.

_Delayed reaction,_ Joe thought with a heavy and knowing heart as he looked at Cal's mother, Janice. While he hadn't been present when the Mortons were informed of Iola's death, Chet had later talked about his mother's state of cold, stunned silence when that tragic news came. The floodgates had only opened in the week following the service for Iola. He supposed the same might hold true for Janice, as well.

"I'm so sorry." Frank managed to choke out, feeling he ought to say _something_; anything. But he really just didn't know what else to say or do. He eventually decided silence was best.

"We're _both_ sorry," Joe added sincerely, remembering his place. Larry offered them a grateful look in spite of himself.

"How?" Jodi's face was one of bewilderment. "How did it happen?"

Frank looked at her with pity, knowing that he wasn't about to reveal any of the gruesome details he'd learned. Instead he said, "The official cause of death is yet to be determined. But the Meritsville authorities, uh, Chief De Groot, will be directly in touch very shortly."

"You said the police found _two_ bodies," Martin Hunter said, again in his usual quiet tone.

Suddenly every head swivelled in his direction. Martin looked up at the Hardys. "If they only found Cal and Sandra, what has happened to Andy? What has happened to my grandson?"

**A/N: Yes, I know! Everyone wants to know where the babies are! I absolutely promise that will be revealed. You've just got to be patient with me, though I know some of you already have your suspicions! (You smart people!)**


	11. With a Hold on My Heart

**A/N: Apologies for not updating sooner. However, this chapter drops some important clues about what's going on with the missing babies. I know I'm going to hear it from my N/F shipper supporters for what happens in this chapter as well, but folks, the truth is I'm not into imitating what everyone else does. There's a glut of N/F in this fandom. I won't be offended if you decide to stop reading this fic because I don't give you the pairing you want. **

**OK. That said, I still hope you enjoy this chapter, as well as what I have planned for the rest of the story, and beyond.**

Chapter 11

In a darkened supply closet that housed part of the Obstetrics wing of New York University Medical Center, two young doctors completing their residency were enjoying a romantic interlude. They were leaning against a shelf stacked with various medical supplies they knew no one was likely to require in the immediate future.

The beeping of a pager caused them pull apart like guilty schoolchildren.

"I think it's yours," Dr. Genevieve Moreau said breathlessly to Dr. Jeff Hagen.

"Ain't that always the way," Jeff muttered, and gave Genevieve one last smooch before he reached for the noisy device.

"They're looking for me," he sighed, after squinting at the message.

Genevieve pouted. "Guess I'd better get back, too, before they start paging _me_."

"I owe, I owe, so off to work I go!" Jeff sing-songed, and started making his way to the door.

"Just how much are still you in the hole for?" Genevieve asked casually, brushing a hand on his arm.

"Over a hundred-thou. Give or take ten grand." Jeff said with a groan

She stopped him and placed herself between him and the door, a coy expression on her face. "I'm all through with loans."

He balked at this statement, staring at her open-mouthed. "What do you mean you're 'through' with loans? Gen, we finished med school at the same time, and I'm pretty sure we had the same debt load. So, unless you won the lottery recently or collected on some big inheritance…"

"Nothing like that," Genevieve responded with a laugh. "I just made some connections in the medical community whose particular interest is helping people like you and me get out of their student load debts sooner."

"You're joking, right? Who are these people, multi-millionaires?"

"They're a charity organization. I applied to them for debt relief, and _poof!_ No more student loans."

"It was that easy, huh?" Jeff said cynically.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that…I still had to _work_ for it. I had to…qualify; meet their standards. They're the ones who approached me, actually." Gen seemed particularly proud of this fact. "I first heard from them in our final year. I agreed to their conditions, and they contributed quite handsomely to the elimination of my debts."

"Who are these people and where can I get their number?" Jeff asked in amazement.

"I can put you in touch with them," Gen said with a smile. "They're _so_ helpful."

"Do you really think they'll help _me_?" Jeff queried. "I mean, how does it go and what do they want? Is it based on merit? Job performance? Financial need? Desperation? First-born son?"

Gen laughed at this, and Jeff found himself giving a nervous chuckle, too.

"What, did I say something funny?"

"Not really. But you do have to be willing to put some effort into qualifying."

"If I have to fill out a hundred pages of forms, it'll be worth every dotted line I sign and every paragraph of fine printing I read."

"Oh, it's not about filling out forms," Gen said. "The best way I can describe it is, how shall we say, 'medical research'."

"Research, huh?"

Genevieve nodded briskly. "We'll talk later about this, okay?"

"Okay!" Jeff said enthusiastically, and the pair separately returned to their duties.

Genevieve smiled to herself as she thought about the last 'research' project she had just completed; the one that finally saw the remainder of her loans paid in full.

What was the name of that pregnant couple again? Oh, yes! _Hunter. _Calvin and Sandra Hunter, and they'd had their first-born child here; a son. He'd been a healthy baby; perfect in every way. Mom and Dad had been healthy specimens, too. They'd had no history of any serious medical ailments or genetic predispositions that could potentially spell trouble down the line for the child. They'd also jointly possessed the specific physical traits she'd been instructed to keep an eye out for. Genevieve's benefactors had been very pleased with those results, and she'd of course been rewarded for her work, as she had been on three previous occasions.

_Charitable organization, indeed_, Gen smirked as she walked the halls of the hospital. She didn't know who was ultimately behind the hefty contributions made towards her debt, and she certainly knew better than to ask. But she was quite sure she wasn't the only one receiving this kind of 'assistance'.

--------------------------------

Nancy Drew slowed her pace to a steady jog and eventually to a brisk walk as she made her way down the path in the River Heights Municipal Park. Maintaining her fitness level while away from duty was one of her priorities, so she'd gotten up at six o'clock for a run. The early morning chill made her thankful she'd worn a hooded fleece jacket over her sweatshirt. A pair of black skin-tight running pants with reflective trim completed her outfit. She exhaled and watched her breath float away in a misty cloud. There was a smattering of other early risers on the path today, either jogging or walking their dogs.

Many mornings had been spent like this while she had been in the process of getting accepted into the Police Academy. She'd had George as a taskmaster then, since the other girl had the training experience of an elite athlete under her belt. Nancy shook her head as if to dash thoughts of her friend from her mind. Yes, she had several reasons to let go of feelings of guilt, but it wouldn't be an easy, nor simple and speedy process.

"Nancy?" A voice from behind called. The voice was muffled, yet familiar. She stopped and turned, pulling her hood from her head. She felt her heart give an unexpected flutter.

"Nancy, it _is_ you!"

Her eyes went wide when she recognized the tall, dark-haired man coming to a halt behind her.

"Ned?" she said, almost at a loss for words. This was the last place she expected to see him. A dizzying series of questions flashed through her mind. _What is he doing here? I thought he was in Chicago with..._her_. I thought he was..._ "How did you know it was me?"

He grinned. "I'd recognize those gorgeous legs anywhere, Drew. And then when you pulled off your hood...I just knew."

Nancy put her hands on her hips and tried to get her breathing under control. Seeing him like this, in such an unexpected fashion was almost like being slapped in the face. It brought emotions she wanted to ignore surging back.

"What are you doing here, Ned?"

His grin vanished and he averted his gaze. "I was going to ask you the same thing, actually."

"I asked first." Nancy realized there was an unmistakable edge of harshness in her words.

"Yeah, you did," Ned conceded. "Okay, I'll tell you all about it if you'll accompany me for a cup of coffee."

She looked at him skeptically. His handsome face was both eager, earnest and expectant. A part of her wanted to say 'yes'; overwhelmingly so – the part that still hoped for the fulfillment of the longings she'd dreamed of during her forced exile the prior year. Another part wanted to slug him in the jaw – the part that no longer wanted anything to do with the Ned Nickerson that had betrayed her.

"Please?" His brown eyes bore into hers.

"I thought we pretty much said everything we needed to say the last time, Ned. Or rather, _you_ said what you wanted to say."

He flinched as if he'd been punched, but she realized she took very little satisfaction in that reaction.

"That's what I wanted to talk about...I just wasn't expecting to see you so suddenly. I wasn't expecting to see you in River Heights at all. Please, can we go somewhere else? We're blocking the path."

"Fine," Nancy finally said, but inwardly she berated herself for accepting. _Don't start something you won't be able to finish, Ned Nickerson._

Five minutes later they were sitting in a small café. Their jog over had been one of silence, but Ned was ready to break it as soon as they had ordered and were seated.

"I'm not proud of how I handled our last conversation, Nan," he said, after taking a sip of his coffee.

"No?" Nancy said dubiously. "You seemed pretty clear on what you wanted. And clearly, it wasn't me."

"I know what I said then. And I know how much it hurt for you to hear it. And at the time, I was convinced what I was saying was the truth."

"And now?"

"Now...Well, now I'm back in River Heights to get my life sorted out."

_Sounds like me_, Nancy thought.

"I quit my job. And me and Denise have called it quits, too."

Nancy blinked in disbelief. "What?"

Ned put his hand out towards hers on the table, but stopped just short of touching her. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Look, Nancy...After the drive-by shooting; when you disappeared, for a time I actually was convinced you were still alive. Every morning I woke up thinking: _'Okay, today she's going to call and everything's going to be fine_', or, _'today we're going to find her and we'll be together again'_. No matter what had happened, I thought there had to be a reasonable explanation for your absence and your silence, and I was willing to wait for it. After all, we had _plans_, Nancy. The afternoon before the drive-by, I'd actually gone out to a jewellery place looking for a ring."

"You did?"

"Yeah. We _were_ talking about getting married, weren't we?"

"Yes...I just...that dream never left me while I was in hiding. What happened, Ned? Why did you give up on me?" Memories of all the sleepless, restless nights spent in strange places and surrounded by strange people nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"Well, one morning, I _did_ get a call," Ned explained, his brow furrowing, "but not the one I'd been hoping and praying for. It was from your Dad. He told me he'd just received word that a Mustang matching the description of yours had been spotted in Lake Michigan by some _divers_...

"I raced out there with a million thoughts on my mind. I'm sure I was breaking the speed limit. I got there just as they were dragging it out of the water."

He squinted his eyes closed and pursed his lips. Visions of that morning and that ruined car had haunted him for so long; even now it was hard to dissociate himself from it.

"Nan...When I saw it, I just wanted to die. For two months I'd held onto the hope that you weren't dead...but seeing your car...I didn't want to face the fact that what I feared most for you had come to pass. We'd been together for so long, Nan. I've been with you, by your side on so many of your cases. I knew what dangers you could face because I've seen them first-hand, and I'd come to accept it -"

Nancy interrupted: "So that part about my 'stupid mysteries' when you broke up with me; if you'd come to accept that the risk of losing me was a possibility, what was all that about?"

Ned sighed guiltily. "Years of pent-up worry and frustration finally bubbling to the surface. Be honest, Nancy: your mysteries have almost gotten you killed on many occasions. You've been threatened, physically attacked, shot at, strangled, electrocuted, poisoned...need I go on?"

Nancy shook her head. "No."

"I wasn't _myself_ when you got back, Nancy," Ned said plaintively. "That was a Ned still in shock. That was a Ned that had convinced himself that Nancy Drew was dead, and that he ought to move on with his life. But I was a fool, Nancy. Denise Mason isn't _you._ And she never could be. She _looks_ like you, but she isn't you. I don't know; maybe I thought that things would be better if I had someone _like_ you, but without the risks that constantly surrounded you. Police work and curating a museum are two entirely different worlds."

"So you really aren't seeing her anymore," Nancy said softly, carefully considering this information.

"No. And she understands. She was trying to start something that was based on bygone, childish infatuation from our days at Emerson. She saw I was weak and was only too happy to try to capitalize. And for a while, it was actually very nice, and I was almost convinced things could be normal for us. But it was all based on a fantasy that couldn't last. It's when she noticed how truly miserable I was, mentally and emotionally, that she came clean."

"I see. Well, I was seeing someone too, for a little while."

"Really? Who?"

"Frank Hardy."

"Oh." A look that resembled defeat crossed his face. "You know, I always felt like I was strangely competing with him whenever he was around. In fact, I think I'm feeling a little jealous even now. Do you love him?"

_He sure isn't beating around the bush, is he?_ Nancy thought, but decided to give an answer. "It's just not the right time. I'm...not myself. I've stepped away from my work. That's why I'm back in River Heights. There's things I need to take care of before I permanently go back to Chicago. Frank and I both agreed we'd take a break for a while."

"You still didn't answer my question," Ned said.

"What?"

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think we're just too much alike. We both live the same kind of life, and we make a great team._ Professionally,_ I mean. I don't want us to make a mistake thinking that just because we're compatible intellectually means we're compatible as a romantic couple."

_Frank Hardy. Intelligent, handsome, warm, compassionate and honourable. A rare combination in the men she encountered in her line of work..._

"Do you still love _me_?" Ned asked, breaking her thoughts.

"I don't know how to answer that, either, Ned. We're different people than we were a year ago. I don't know what to do about that. If you'd asked me last year if I thought it was possible we wouldn't be together, that there would be this _rift _between us, I would have given an emphatic 'no'. But now...Look, I've been seeing a police department psychologist to help me get through what happened to me last year. I just can't deal with anything else. This is a very bad time to be asking me if I still love you."

"Okay. I won't push it, Nan. But I just want to say again that breaking up with you was the most foolish thing I've ever done. I allowed myself to be convinced that I would never be able to move on with my life if I was still living with the ghost of you. Let me tell you what _my_ year of hell was like, just so you know it wasn't an easy thing to decide I should let you go:

"I spent most of the year feeling cold and numb. I couldn't eat or sleep. My job performance was down the tubes...My parents, my boss, coworkers and friends were all pretty worried. Finally it came to me I had to face the facts: you were dead and you weren't coming back. I was seeing someone – professionally – and between the two of us, I had to conclude that if I didn't let you go, it was either going to kill me, or I was going to kill myself. As it happened, I bumped into Denise a few days after that decision. I'll be honest: it was almost like seeing _you_ in the flesh, even though I knew, rationally, that it wasn't you. Like I said, I think Denise was all too happy to hook up with me, too. Old crushes die hard.

"When I heard you were alive, I didn't know _what_ to feel. It was like my brains and heart were being scrambled together in a high-speed blender. Just when I thought I was getting my life back together; just when things were finally beginning to make some sense, the rules got changed again."

Nancy broke in: "And _I_ spent my year barely hanging onto my sanity, worried sick about what news of my _supposed_ death was doing to you and to everyone else. So many nights went by that I wished I could have called you to tell you I was alive, but it would have been too dangerous. I was also on the biggest guilt-trip imaginable, especially for what happened to George..."

"She's forgiven you, Nancy; you really should do the same."

"I know. And for the most part, I have. But every time I see her, I can't help but think that her life, and pretty much everyone else's life would be better if they hadn't known me or been around me. It was easy when people didn't get seriously hurt on my cases. But now...I'm not even sure I want to go back to that life."

Ned stared at her with a shocked expression on his face. "I _never _thought I'd live to see the day when I'd hear you say that. You're _Nancy Drew_, famous detective!"

Nancy gave a short, harsh laugh.

"Don't forget I've been with you on cases that turned dangerous, Nan," he said. "I realized a long time ago that solving mysteries was your lifeblood. Like an artist that has to paint, an author that has to write, an actor that has to perform, or an athlete that has to compete, you wouldn't be _you_ if you weren't out there on a case. The ugly truth is I was both jealous of the time you seemed to lavish on your cases, and scared to death I would lose you, somehow. But I don't want a Nancy Drew that doesn't have that spark of life in her eyes – and we were together long enough for me to know that spark comes when you're in your element. Solving mysteries is what you were made to do, Nancy. I can't fight that fact anymore."

_How I wish I could have heard you say that when I returned home_, Nancy thought mournfully. Confusion reigned. _I was just getting used to the idea he didn't want me...I was cutting ties. I was exploring the possibilities with someone new...And here he comes, trying to make amends for what he did..._

She felt his warm hand on hers, and she resisted the sudden, spiteful urge to pull it away. _You don't deserve to touch me; you hurt me terribly_, she wanted to say, but let the words die on her tongue. _He suffered when he thought you were dead. He's only human. Maybe you should cut him some slack._

"Nan," Ned said softly, "I know I'm not worthy of a second chance. I know we've changed as individuals. But we _had_ something once."

"Once," Nancy said with a nod. "I was ready to go forward when I returned, Ned. I'm not the one who threw away what we had."

Ned hung his head.

"I really should go now," Nancy said, extricating her hand from his and pulling herself up from her seat. "I have to drive into Chicago for a session with my shrink."

Ned rose with her and reached out for her again. "Wait," he said.

"What do you want from me?" Nancy said impatiently.

"I want to know that you'll consider getting to know me again. We both agree we're different people now. Fine. Since there's nothing we can do about that, can we pretend like we've never met before? Can we build something new?"

Nancy felt torn. Ned was begging for a second chance. _Here is the man you were planning to spend the rest of your life with. If you can mend the broken ties you had with him now, then you can weather anything life throws at you. Admit it, Drew. You still care for the guy, even though he broke your heart._

"I can't be involved with anyone right now," Nancy finally responded. "I'm too much of a mess. I can't guarantee the time will _ever _be right, either."

"That's okay, Nancy," Ned said, almost desperate to show his sincerity, "I waited for months for you to return to me, and I wish I'd waited longer. But I know now that I can wait again. You're the only one for me, Nancy."

He stepped towards her, and she did not draw back, nor did she resist when he embraced her. She felt a strong desire to return his embrace, and found her arms encircling his broad shoulders.

_I'm in the arms of the one I wanted to be in for so long..._

"I've missed you so much, Nancy...I've been such a fool. I love you so much..." Ned was murmuring. He nuzzled the side of her head, burying his face in her hair.

She was shocked to realize he was crying.


	12. Cold Case

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. But for my Hardy fans in particular, I think you'll probably enjoy this chapter the most. Thanks for your patience, everyone. I'll try not to leave you hanging in suspense for too long.

**12.**

In the fading light of the early Spring evening, a tall man, dressed in black as was his custom, dialed a private number and waited expectantly for the other person to pick up.

"What is it, Brad?" came the familiar voice.

"It's done," he said.

"Good. It will only be a matter of time, then, before the searchers find the infant's clothes."

"Right," Brad said in agreement. "If all goes according to plan, they'll conclude the worst and give up looking for him."

"_If_ it all goes according to plan," the other voice seethed. Brad read there a veiled threat that the plan had _better_ succeed, or the consequences would be his to suffer. "I am still concerned about those two private investigators from Bayport. I hope you're keeping a close watch on their activities."

"Yes, I am. My sources have told me there's a personal connection between them and the Hunters, so they've been actively trying to follow up on any leads they think they have."

"Yes, that damned 'personal connection'!" Brad's party spat scornfully. "Why didn't our initial background check of Calvin Hunter include information about his sister-in-law's ex-boyfriend?"

"It was...outside our normal degree-of-separation parameters. It was an unfortunate oversight," Brad replied carefully, knowing his excuse came up lame.

"An 'oversight' we have to ensure never happens again!"

"Of course. You're right. But these Hardy brothers will not get close enough to us; that I can promise you. I'll take them out long before that happens. _If _it comes to that, I can also promise you no one will _ever_ find their bodies."

* * *

The morning dawned raw and chilly in the Adirondacks. It was a decidedly unwelcome reversion to temperatures of the seemingly endless winter. By the time it rose, the sun was only a dull disc behind heavy gray clouds that threatened wet snow or rain.

A group of about a dozen volunteers had gathered with several supervising officers from the Meritsville department to assist in the search for the remains of the missing infant, Andrew Hunter. They stood huddled together for warmth, even though they had all wisely dressed for the inclement weather. Someone had brought coffee and donuts, which were quickly being devoured.

Frank and Joe Hardy were among the volunteers. They listened carefully but impatiently to their search instructions and parameters.

The coffee Frank had drunk left a bitter aftertaste. He wasn't sure if it was due to the brew, or a psychological effect of the dreary day. This, coupled with the grim reminder that their search was now one of 'recovery', not rescue, depressed him. He watched Joe consume more than his share of the sugary donuts, dusting his fingers from the last powdered one he'd chomped down in two bites. The one chocolate-glazed donut Frank himself had eaten now settled like a rock in his stomach. They'd had breakfast before arriving, and he now regretted the sweet snack. Typically, Joe's appetite was in fine form as he helped himself to a second cup of coffee from the large, insulated dispenser. The steam rose from the cup as Joe sipped, and Frank felt his stomach revolt acidly.

The volunteers paired off and were instructed to keep in contact over radios that were handed out to them. They were shown how they would systematically sweep the designated search area.

Frank and Joe started off for their assigned area, and Joe cast an uneasy glance at the still cordoned-off spot that had been the hastily-dug graves in which Calvin and Sandra Hunter had been callously buried.

A steady, cold drizzle started down. Frank had to make a concerted effort not to grumble. The fringe of hair that missed the cover of his hood was already getting damp. He wiped his face from the spatter of precipitation. Joe was jauntily moving along up the muddy, sloping terrain ahead of him, seemingly unaffected by the dismal atmosphere. Frank paused to get his bearings. So far, there had been nothing remotely resembling the remains of a human infant, or the jumper Andy had been wearing. They'd had a description of the clothes from several of the townspeople the Hunters had met the afternoon they departed from Meritsville.

"You okay, Frank?" Joe called out.

"Yeah," Frank said, with a slight nod. "Just not enjoying myself out here."

"You're right. The rain's not helping."

Frank allowed himself a moment to imagine he was back home in Bayport, sitting in front of a fire with a hot cup of cocoa...

_And Nancy's sitting with me_.

Frank shook his head regretfully. He reluctantly started after Joe.

_We gave it a shot_, Frank thought to himself, remembering when Nancy was in Bayport. _I was thrilled when she showed up at our office that day. I wanted to make it work. Was I just fooling myself when I thought she'd want to have something deeper with me? We _did_ give it an honest shot, didn't we? _

As Frank sloshed through the soggy earth, he thought how hard it had been to let Nancy go back to Chicago.

_I guess I knew she had to go back_, he mused. _I couldn't really expect her to drop everything there, especially after her year of Hell, and be with me. It wouldn't have been fair to tie her down. She's just not ready for a relationship, long distance or otherwise...and giving her some space after that breakup with Nickerson...you made the right choice, Hardy..._

The drizzle was turning into a full-fledged shower now, and the drops were beginning to pelt like needles. Frank sighed and wiped his wet face again. _Am I really _in love_ with her, or were we just testing the waters?_ He wasn't sure, even now.

It hit Frank that in the weeks since Nancy had returned to Chicago, she hadn't called him once. _But then again, I haven't called her, either._

A half-hour had passed when deputy Peter Van der Beek came over the radio, summoning them back. The search was being called off for the day due to the poor weather conditions. Indeed, the temperature had actually been dropping, and the rain had not abated. A snowfall warning was now in effect from the local weather office, Van der Beek announced, and Frank looked resignedly at Joe. He saw disappointment mirrored in his brother's eyes.

"I guess we head back," Joe said with a shrug. "Maybe someone else had better luck. I don't want to have to come back tomorrow."

Together, they started to retrace their steps. They still kept their eyes open for anything remotely resembling baby clothes.

The rain started to abate, giving way to a light, misty drizzle. With the plunging temperatures, Frank and Joe were increasingly intent on returning to their car.

Joe stopped short so suddenly, Frank nearly walked into him. "What's wrong?" Frank asked quietly, recovering quickly from his surprise. Experience told him that a loud outburst in this circumstance would be an unwise reaction.

Joe held up a hand, indicating he wanted silence. He stood rooted to the spot, and slowly craned his neck to the left. After about ten seconds of stillness, he let out a breath he'd been holding.

"I thought I saw something moving over there," Joe said, turning to face Frank.

"What did this 'something' look like?" Frank asked.

"It was just an impression, really," Joe admitted, "like a passing shadow beyond the trees there."

"Might have been an animal," Frank ventured.

"Mm-mm. No way," Joe said, with a curt shake of his head. "The motion was wrong. This was definitely motion from something that moves on two legs, and it was tall."

"Think it was another volunteer searcher?"

"Maybe," Joe said, irresolutely.

"Maybe it was Bigfoot." Frank cracked a smile.

"Your jokes are terrible, bro."

"I never said I was a comedian. Come on, let's go," Frank urged. "It's freezing out here."

With a frown, Joe followed after Frank, still uneasy about what he thought he'd seen.

There was a lot of hushed, but excited activity when the Hardys returned to their start point. They approached deputy Van der Beek, who was at the center of the group of volunteers who had already made it back.

"What's going on?" Frank asked, trying to snake his way through the other volunteers. With gloved hands, Van der Beek held up a damp, muddied and tattered shred of clothing, too small to have belonged to an adult. Most disconcerting of all were the dark stains that the brothers instantly recognized as blood.

"One of the volunteers – Liam over here - found it on the hike back," the deputy said to the brothers.

"I almost missed it, to be honest," the man named Liam put in, with a rueful shake of his head. He turned away, overcome with the sadness of what the discovery meant.

"There's not much left of it, but I'd say this pattern of teddy bears you can still see matches the description we got. These look like bloodstains...an animal, perhaps...unearthed the body..." Van der Beek trailed off.

Frank and Joe nodded silently. Van der Beek cleared his throat uncomfortably. Several of the volunteers began to silently disperse now that they were no longer needed. He thanked them all quietly, and carefully put the recovered garment in a brown paper bag.

"We'll want to be _sure _about the blood, and that it is actually Andrew Hunter's," Frank said, trying to keep a steady voice. "The families will want nothing less than 100 percent certainty."

"Of course," the deputy replied, almost defensively. "We'll be sending samples to be tested. Could take a few days for the lab to process and send us the results, but I think we all know what they're going to say."

The deputy's words echoed in their minds as they walked back to their car. Alone on the side of the rural road, it looked cold and uninviting through the wet drizzle that had started up again. Not for the first time, Frank thought about getting an automatic starter, so that in times such as this, the engine would already be on, and the car warm. Frank unlocked his door, climbed in, and popped the passenger side open for Joe.

"Thanks," Joe muttered, as he sat and closed the door.

Their mood was sombre; almost identical to their emotions when they'd leaned about Calvin and Sandra. Only this time, the pain carried an extra edge. All evidence now pointed towards a third death – that of an innocent infant.

Frank started the car and nosed off the muddy shoulder onto the road again, windshield wipers swishing away the precipitation.

"Who could have done this?" Joe sighed.

"Who, and why?" Frank answered with his own question.

_Monsters_, Joe thought angrily. _Only a truly cold, evil person would do this to a family like that._

"I'm just afraid that the trail's gone so cold, we won't be able to get who did this," Joe said worriedly.

"We _have_ leads," Frank countered. "All we have to do is keep following them. We know from the NYPD that someone deliberately targeted the Hunter's SUV."

"Right," Joe said.

"Then when we get the autopsy report back from Chief De Groot, we'll have a better idea of how Cal and Sandy died."

"From what De Groot said, I think we can deduce that Cal and Sandy were probably shot," Joe said. "If that's the case, we might get lucky with some useful ballistics evidence."

"And I've been asking some of our sources to discreetly check into some chop shops in the vicinity," Frank added.  
"Let me guess: looking out for a dark green, '98 Taurus."

"With or without a baby carrier," Frank replied. "I'm not quitting on this one, Joe. I owe it to Callie and her family. These killers deserve to be punished."

Wet snow began to pepper the windshield. It was ruining the visibility, but even so, the road ahead seemed deserted. Evidently, no one else wanted to be out in this threatening weather.

"Here it comes," Frank said. "I guess Old Man Winter isn't done with us yet."

The asphalt was becoming increasingly slick, and Frank kept a steady pace at the wheel. With the dipping temperatures, he knew it was only a matter of time before the wet snow turned to ice under the tires.

They'd been driving for about five minutes when Joe realized Frank kept squinting at the rear-view mirror.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Not sure," Frank responded. "It's a little hard to tell with all the snow coming down."

"What do you mean?"

"I could be imagining it, but I think we're being followed."

Joe wanted to release his exasperation with a loud groan. "That seems to be one of our less-than-pleasant habits, doesn't it?" He stole a glance behind him and made out a pair of headlights through the snow-streaked rear windscreen.

"Looks like a black van of some sort," Joe said. "Think it's one of the volunteers?"

"Meritsville is _behind_ us. Unless they're driving into the city, they shouldn't be going on this direction."

"You're right," Joe said thoughtfully.

"I think I'll slow down and see if they pass," Frank stated. "No need to get paranoid just yet."

He slowed the car perceptibly. With bated breath the brothers watched for the van's next move.

"Damn. They've slowed to match our pace," Frank growled under his breath.

"Could be they're just trying to leave a decent space between us. The roads are crappy. Maybe they just want to be safe."

"Hmm...That is a reasonable assumption, Joe. Hey, where's the map we have of the area?"

"Here in the glove box," Joe answered, and popped it open. He removed the map and unfolded it.

"See if there are any old logging roads, or something like that that we can turn on to. If we're really being followed, they won't take a chance on losing us."

"Alright," Joe said. "But if they _are_ following us, might I suggest we call for backup?"

"Sure. But no need to panic just yet. Just tell me what you find."

"Okay," Joe said, and started studying the map. "From what I can tell, there's a couple smaller trails coming up soon. There should be a turn-off for a road to some kind of summer camping area."

"Sounds perfect," Frank said. "If it's a summer spot, there shouldn't be any reason for folks to be wanting that route today."

"Agreed. But I've got my cell phone at the ready just in case."

They whizzed past a worn-looking signpost with a newly-accumulated crust of freezing snow. It indicated the camping grounds would be the next left turn.

"Brace yourself for a sudden turn, Joe," Frank said. "I want to take them by surprise when I make that exit."

"Got it."

With the wipers madly washing across the windshield, Frank knew he'd have to be extremely cautious. They were rapidly approaching their would-be escape route. Timing had to be perfect. The turn-off was almost obscured by overgrown pine tree branches. The car's tires squealed in protest as Frank abruptly yanked the steering wheel to the left. He fought to keep the car in line as it fishtailed. Joe looked back frantically, and saw the van shoot past them.

They sighed in relief.

Joe began to laugh. "What a couple of idiots we turned out to be!"

Frank grinned and slowed the car. "I guess this case has us in knots. We're imagining villains behind everything. I'll see if I can find a place to turn us around."

Without warning, the engine shut down.

"What the-?" Frank said. He stared at the dashboard. The lights on the panel dimmed and flashed off. "The car just lost power!"

"What?" Joe sputtered.

They coasted for a few more seconds then came to a complete stop.

Silence.

Frank turned the key in the ignition without success. "Come on! Start!"

"This is so not funny," Joe said, glowering.

The sound of a different vehicle cut through the silence. Both brothers looked behind them. Twin points of light from the black van shined back through the falling flakes.

"Well, I think we can safely say we've been followed after all," Joe said mirthlessly.

"Joe, I think it's time we called for backup," Frank said with urgency.

Two figures clad in black from head to toe emerged from the van.

Frank tensed as he saw each man holding a firearm.

Both brothers knew they weren't being approached by any legal authority; a legitimate law enforcement official would have identified himself as such by now.

Joe hurriedly dialed the Meritsville department. He silently prayed _someone_ would pick up immediately.

The armed men walked with unhurried steps towards the Hardy's disabled car.

_We're sitting ducks in here_, Frank thought, near panic. _Who are these guys? What do they want with us?_

"Come on, come on! Connect!" Joe whispered harshly to the cell phone. He was afraid the poor weather was interfering with the signal strength. It kept disconnecting each time he re-dialed.

For a brief moment Frank thought of making a run for it. He knew it would probably be a foolish move. They were in the middle of nowhere. Their car was inoperable. Could they escape these armed men on foot in such weather and treacherous, uneven ground? Would they be shot as the tried to escape?

_This must be what happened to Cal and Sandy..._The realization hit Frank and he breathed in sharply.

"I think I know what happened to the Hunters," he said quietly to Joe.

But before Joe could reply, one of the men spoke up: "Step out of the car!"

This sudden command was issued plainly, without emotion.

"Cal and Sandy were followed just like this. They were shot, then they were buried in the woods," Frank reasoned. _I just don't know _why.

Joe looked at his brother. He felt his heart beating madly in his chest. He was still unable to reach the Merritsville police.

"Step out of the car _now!_"the man ordered.

"What do we do?" Joe asked Frank, letting the phone fall uselessly into his lap. "If we get out, they'll kill us, just as surely as they killed Cal and Sandy."

"I'm not going down without a fight," Frank said through clenched teeth. "We step out, nice and easy. We need to find some way of distracting them."  
"They've got _guns_, Frank," Joe countered.

"That's never stopped us before. There's two of them, and there's two of us. They're expecting us to comply. They won't expect us to spring an attack. I'd say that makes it even."

The armed men had each chosen one side, and were now slowly inching their way towards the car doors.

"I say we wait for them to get closer," Joe said, glancing at his man in the side mirror. "As soon as they get get close enough, _wham!_ We shove open our doors. That'll give them a rude awakening."

"Good idea," Frank said.

But the armed men stopped a few paces back and remained standing.

"Get out now, or we'll shoot you where you sit!" called the man on Joe's side.

Frank felt his blood run cold. The snow was coming down in earnest now. The windshield was quickly becoming coated now that the wipers weren't functioning.

"I'm not dying here, Joe," Frank said stiffly.

"I have no intention of doing that," Joe replied. He released his seatbelt and slid his fingers to his door handle. "I'm not going down without a fight, either. But I'm not about to test their patience."

Wordlessly, Frank unbuckled his seatbelt. They eased their doors open, and slowly stepped from the car.

"Hands on your heads!" barked the man behind Joe.

The brothers complied. Joe wanted to turn around to face their captors, but decided against it. It might be too risky a move.

"Thanks for your cooperation," said Frank's man with eerie calm. "Now we're going to go on a little walk through the snowy woods. Start moving."

"To grandmother's house we go," chortled the other one.

The Hardy brothers stood irresolutely for a few seconds.

"Move! Or we shoot you where you stand!" bellowed Joe's captor.

Frank felt his heart sink as he forced his feet to move. From the corner of his eye, he saw Joe start off, too.

_We're goners,_ he thought. _We'll be shot deep in these woods. They'll bury us just like they did to Cal and Sandy. _

The same thoughts were flashing through Joe's mind as the snow swirled around them. He felt numb from the cold. He idly noted that the tree branches were already turning white. The wild beauty of the scene seemed so incongruous with the ugliness of their present situation. _Will this be the last thing I ever see? Will anyone ever find our bodies?_

Desperation mounting, neither brother could see any way out of the impending disaster.


	13. Whose Woods These Are, I Think I Know

**A/N: Big, big apologies for not updating sooner! Things got a little out-of-control between the still in-progress 'A New Georgie Girl' and this story. Since they're going to be meeting up eventually, I've been trying to lay some major groundwork. But enough of me talking. You all want to know what happens to Frank and Joe. Read on!**

Frank and Joe walked slowly with their hands on their heads. The snowflakes hitting their faces were stinging cold. The only thing that truly registered were the two men with guns, urging them onwards to certain death.

"You fellas care to tell us what this is all about?" Joe finally ventured.

"Shut up and keep moving," came a gruff reply.

"Look, if we're gonna die, at least tell us why," Joe continued, with a hint of defiance.

There was a chuckle and a snort from the two men.

"You think we're just going to lay everything out for you? I think you have a _very_ good idea why this is happening," the one behind Joe said. "You know quite well that you've been looking into things you shouldn't have."

"And what would those _things_ be, pray tell?" Frank pressed innocently, hoping to gain more information.

The armed men made no reply.

Frank halted suddenly. He'd had enough of this cloak-and-dagger business.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Move it!" the man behind him ordered.

Joe stopped, too, and carefully eyed his brother. He shot him a confused look. What was Frank trying to do?

"This is stupid," Frank declared. "You follow us and take us captive at gunpoint; you offer no explanation. I'm sorry, but this isn't normal behavior. Me and my brother here; we're just out for a drive. I demand you tell us what's going on or-"

"Or _what_?" his captor sneered, jamming the barrel of the gun into the small of his back. "Get this straight: I have no qualms about shooting you _right here_. It just means a little more work for me and my partner here. We'd have to drag your body instead of making you walk the distance."

Joe's captor sidled up to him, also placing the barrel against his back.

"We can end it for both of you now, or later. Your choice," Frank's captor said.

Frank heard the safety being disengaged. "What will it be?"

The question hung in the air. The wind continued in its relentless gusts, rustling through the tree branches, and time seemed to stand still.

"If you're going to kill me, then I want to be facing you," Frank finally replied. "I'm not dying with a bullet in my back."

"Me neither," Joe said.

"Suit yourselves," Frank's man said with a smirk. "You can turn around; _slowly._ Any funny moves and we're shooting."

Obediently, the brothers turned, coming at last face-to-face with their foes. Quickly, they took in as many details about the gunmen as they could. The man marking Joe was the taller of the two. They were dressed in identical winter jackets; hands gloved. Their heads were covered with balaclavas, but there was no mistaking the expression of cold, calculating evil in their eyes. There were no other discernible distinguishing features.

"Let's get this over with," the shorter one growled impatiently.

A deafening sound shattered the quiet. The black van's side window exploded simultaneously in a spray of tinted glass.

All four men started at the noise. The black-clad men spun around in surprise.

The Hardys recovered from their shock first. They immediately went on the offensive.

Frank delivered a swift karate chop to the back of his man's neck. With a grunt, the villain buckled and sprawled in the snow. The gun spiraled out of his hand. Frank reacted before the downed man could recover the piece. A yelp of pain issued forth as Frank placed his boot onto the man's hand, full force.

At the same time, Joe slammed a solid fist into his foe's lower back, connecting with the left kidney. The hood went to his knees, struggled to stand again, couldn't. Joe followed up with a kick to the side of the head. With satisfaction, he watched the man collapse to the snowy ground.

"Down for the count," Joe thought triumphantly as he picked up the free weapon. Immediately, he pointed it in the shorter villain's direction. He was relieved to see Frank had the situation under control.

"You're going to tell me what this is all about, and you're going to tell me now!" Frank said harshly. He'd pulled the man up to his knees and now had him in a full-nelson. The man's arms flailed wildly, trying to escape Frank's grip. He tried kicking out, grunting and cursing all the while. But Frank laid on enough pressure to hear the guy's bones creak. The struggles ceased.

"Why were you following us?" Joe demanded, coming around to face their captive. He bent down and picked up the other weapon.

Upon seeing both guns trained on him, the villain's eyes went wild.

"Yeah," Joe said with a knowing grin. "It's different now that the tables are turned, huh?"

"You won't shoot me," he said through gritted teeth.

"No, but I can tie a mean knot," Joe answered back. "We could just truss you up and leave you and your buddy out here to freeze. My guess is that nobody would really miss you."

"You have no _idea_ who you're dealing with," the man said with a laugh. "Even if you do leave us out here, you're still both gonna be as good as dead."

"Enlighten us. Who _are_ we dealing with?" Joe pressed.

The man simply grinned. Frank was growing frustrated with the lack of cooperation. He eased off the pressure, then tightened up again.

With a yell of pain, the captive cursed and gasped, "You'll never touch them. They're too well-placed...too well-respected...too...exclusive a group."

"Call them," Joe said. "Tell them we want to set up an appointment."

The man started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Frank hissed into his ear.

"Oh, I don't think they'll see you," the man responded, still chuckling.

"And why not?" Joe asked hotly.

"You're not exactly what they'd consider 'client' material."

Frank felt his anger reaching the boiling point. He decided to try a different tack.

"What do you know about what happened to Calvin and Sandra Hunter and their baby, Andrew?" Frank asked.

Silence.

Exasperated, Frank had hoped the question would catch the man off-guard. But he realized they weren't getting anywhere with this clown, and his patience was wearing thin.

"Joe, I think it's time we forget about these guys and turn them over to the police in Meritsville. Let them have a crack at finding out what's going on."

Joe nodded. "You're going to carry your friend over there back to your van, and we're going to drive it back to Meritsville, since our car's out of commission."

The man's face twitched, and he looked ready to concede defeat. Frank tightened his grip once more, his own muscles straining.

Whimpering in pain, the man finally said: "Okay, okay! Lemme go. I'll do whatever you say. I give."

Frank slowly released him, and Joe took a more relaxed stance. The thug shrugged his shoulders several times to try to relieve the ache resulting from Frank's hold. He obediently moved to his unconscious partner and started to bend down to get a grip on his arms.

Keeping careful watch, Joe kept one gun trained on the villain. He handed the second one to Frank.

As he bent down, the thug seemed to slip in the wet snow, and his hands went out protectively to stop his fall, landing on the chest of the downed man. In an instant, he came up with another weapon from inside the fold of his partner's jacket.

But before he could squeeze off a round at the surprised Hardys, another sound like the crack of a shotgun shattered the air, and the thug's body convulsed. A wide-eyed expression of shock remained on his face as he was jerked backwards. He lay very still as the snow beneath him quickly began to be stained a vibrant, blood red. His breathing subsided, and Frank and Joe knew he was dead. The large hole in his upper-left side was proof enough his wound was of the fatal kind.

Stupefied, the brothers stood quietly staring at the scene before them. What had just happened? And what had happened earlier with the van's window?

"Something very weird is going on," Joe said.

"No kidding, Sherlock," Frank replied.

Motion caught their attention. Through the falling snow, a strange sight greeted them. At first glance, it looked more creature than man. Steadily approaching was a figure perhaps 6' 8" in height, hefting an ancient shotgun. Its snow-covered, matted hair was well past its broad shoulders and liberally streaked with gray. Its beard reached the middle of its chest. Its clothes were ragged and looked patched together from several different second-hand outfits and cast-offs. The leather boots on its large feet were worn and scuffed.

Recall hit the brothers. They had seen this person before many years ago. One of their numerous cases had brought them to these same mountains in the Adirondacks. They'd been investigating a deadly cult that had recruited the daughter of a family friend. In their flight from a corrupt Sheriff, they'd sought shelter in what they'd assumed was an abandoned cabin. Instead, it belonged to a loner survivalist, and he'd not been so friendly on first contact. He'd attacked Joe, but Frank had managed to calm the stranger and convince him they meant no harm. After that, he'd been only too helpful and assisted the brothers in their escape from the pursuing Sheriff.

The giant of a man also went by the most unlikely name: _Rosie._

He now grinned at them in recognition, too. "Rosie thought he'd see you boys again someday," he said as he stood before them.

"Rosie!" Frank said heartily. He was as surprised as he had ever been in his life to see the man. "_You_ were responsible for all this? How did you know..?"

"Don't like strangers in my woods," Rosie replied. "And there have been lots of strange things happening in my woods lately. Saw you earlier with the search party. Saw you being followed. That black van doesn't belong in Rosie's woods. Strange things happen when it's around."

"Strange, how?" Joe asked, fully relieved that they were meeting with a friend instead of a foe.

"Bad things," Rosie said in hushed tones. "Bad people. Crawling around, digging, burying...it's _evil._"

"What exactly have you seen, Rosie?" Frank questioned.

"Seen and _heard_. Whispers in the night. Rosie's ears are always open. Blood was spilled in these woods. Innocent blood."

"Yes, you're right about that," Frank said sadly. "Some people were murdered around here. They were buried not too far away. Their little son...a baby...we just found his clothes..."

Rosie pointed the barrel of his shotgun at the still-unconscious goon that Joe had kicked. "That one."

"What about him?" Joe asked excitedly, his gaze avoiding the body of the dead man.

"That one was sneaking around Rosie's woods earlier. There was no baby – only the clothes. He left the clothes by some bushes. Then he went back to the black van. And he waited."

"Are you saying that _this man_ – the one lying right here – came and _hid_ baby clothes in the woods, Rosie?" Frank asked.

Rosie nodded vigorously. "There's no baby in Rosie's woods. Just baby clothes."

* * *

Nancy settled comfortably into the leather chair in Dr. Kirkpatrick's office. The psychologist tented his long fingers and leaned forward, as if preparing to jump out of a starting gate in a race. 

"How are you feeling today?" he asked, his tone light and casual.

"Confused," Nancy said, after reflecting for a few moments.

"What about?"

"I ran into my ex-boyfriend earlier today."

When the shrink didn't comment, Nancy realized he wasn't going to prompt her at every pause. She continued.

"His name is Ned. I was out jogging. I didn't expect to run into him. We ended up talking at a little coffee shop.

"We were close – before I had to go into witness protection. Ever since we were both eighteen, we were fairly exclusive. I mean, we did have the usual ups and downs you'd expect from any relationship...we both did stupid things that made the other jealous...but we always came back to each other. Being with Ned just felt so natural...like an extension of myself. We were talking marriage before...well, before everything last year happened.

"When I came back, he came to tell me he'd moved on. The prevailing story was that I was dead, you see. He had no reason to think otherwise, I suppose, but when he left, I just broke. I'd lived with the hope that when it was safe to return, we'd be able to pick up where we left off.

"I thought the love we shared was strong enough to withstand that time and distance. I thought he'd somehow _know_ I'd be coming back. How stupid is that, huh?

"I get it now that it was overly optimistic of me to think that any man would be able to keep believing I'd come back...But now he's telling me he's single again, and trying to get _his_ life back in order. He told me it was all a mistake letting me go and that he wasn't himself when he ended our relationship..."

Nancy stopped talking for a moment and seemed to remember where she was. "I'm sorry, Dr. Kirkpatrick. I'm rambling."

"Nancy, this is what we call the 'talk' part of _talk therapy_," the psychologist said. "You get to talk about whatever you think is bothering you, and I get to listen."

"Oh," Nancy said, smiling in spite of herself. "I guess I'll keep talking until our time is up."

"Good!" Dr. Kirkpatrick smiled back.

"So..." Nancy picked up where she left off: "When Ned said his goodbyes, I had some best friends who convinced me I should take a chance on a relationship with someone else. This guy I've known for about ten years or so...Frank's a private investigator in Bayport, New York. There's so much about him I admire; so much in him I love and respect. Before we even had our careers, we used to join forces to solve cases as amateur detectives. We weren't willing to come right out and admit we were attracted to each other. I had Ned, and he had a steady girlfriend at the time, too.

"Long story short: his girlfriend is now a married ex-girlfriend, and I went up to see if we could make something of our mutual attraction. In the beginning, it was great just to have someone who _understood_ me. Even after five years of not seeing him or talking to him, he always seemed to know the right thing to say and do. We were like that a lot when we worked together. We think alike and we work alike.

"After what happened with Ned, it felt good to be in the arms of someone who was loving and affectionate. It was the kind of human touch I'd missed in the year I was on the run. But Frank...he's one of those guys every parent wishes their daughter would marry. He's chivalrous. A gentleman to the end. Near the end of my stay in Bayport, he told me he didn't want to think he was catching me on the rebound, or that he was taking advantage of me. I had to get back to Chicago, anyway, so I could start piecing my life and my _career_ back together again. I told him I needed more time to sort things out.

"So, we parted ways, without making any demands on each other. I know it was hard for him to let me go. I think he really wanted to make things work between us. But as it turns out, I'm more messed-up than I thought I was. I can't – I _won't_ subject someone else to my problems right now. Which is why I'm confused, I guess. Seeing Ned again makes me pine for the old days when things were normal. But part of me says he doesn't deserve a second chance. And that's what my last few days have been like, not counting the panic attack."

"Anything else contributing to your confusion?" Dr. Kirkpatrick asked.

"No," Nancy said, "I think my relationship woes have a monopoly on that one."

"Anything else bothering you? Experienced any more panic attacks like what happened at the firing range?"

"No more panic attacks," Nancy responded, still getting used to the idea that it _had_ been a panic attack that day. "But then again, I've avoided the place ever since, and I've stowed my weapons away and out of sight. I can't even stand to touch the pieces."

"Okay, what about sleep: any more bad dreams? Trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?"

Nancy shook her head. "No bad dreams that I can remember, thankfully. I slept okay, too. Last night, at least."  
"That's good. I suggest keeping a log or journal, just to keep track of those dreams when they come."

"I can do that."

"Excellent," Dr. Kirkpatrick said. "I want to see you again next week. Same time. Can you make it?"

"Yes, I think so," Nancy said with a nod.

"Good. We'll arrange it with my secretary." Dr. Kirkpatrick buzzed the reception desk. "Valerie, put down Nancy Drew for next week, okay? Same time slot...Thanks."

"So...Is that it for today?" Nancy asked.

"I think you got a lot off your chest today, Nancy. We've only skimmed the surface, of course. I'm sure there will be a lot more for you to talk about when you come for the next session. See you then!"

* * *

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.**

The wind was brisk when Glenn McCaskill stepped out of his car and approached the new row of show homes that had recently been completed. He was early this morning, and was thankful for the relatively easy drive from his home in Brighton Heights to Richland Township in Northern Allegheny County.

Glenn, a real estate agent for Sheffield & Associates Realty, went directly to the first home on the lot, which also doubled as his temporary office.

His thick head of jet-black hair was ruffled by the breeze as he walked. Glenn had a prominent widow's peak and thick eyebrows over blue, deep-set eyes. He stood a shade under six feet with wide shoulders and lean waist. With his cheeks a ruddy complexion, one's immediate impression of Glenn was that of a man who spent a substantial amount of time outdoors. In fact, Glenn spent much of his leisure time canoeing with his wife, Leah, down the Allegheny River. He knew those canoeing trips would be less frequent now, with the recent birth of their son, Douglas.

Like many of the show homes on the lot, Glenn's current base of operations was a two-story Colonial with a brick exterior, wall-to-wall carpeting, hardwood floors, ceramic tile in the 4 full bathrooms, and other luxury features such as central air and two fireplaces.

The 3-car attached garage was carpeted for the time being, complete with a desk, chair, and all the usual office accouterments. Glenn set his briefcase down on the desk and flipped on the small halogen lamp for more direct lighting.

This was probably going to be a busy morning. The new phase of development was close to its completion, and there was a lot of interest in the new community. Richland Township was semi-rural, but boasted several excellent schools, shopping, beautiful neighborhoods and easy access via several routes and the Interstate.

Three hours into the day, Glenn had already taken ten prospective clients through several of the show homes. Four had been drop-ins, and Glenn could tell at least two of the couples he'd taken on tour were seriously considering settling in the community. It hadn't taken a lot of effort on his part to point out the positives; the selling points of the houses practically spoke for themselves.

At around one o'clock, Glenn took a short time for a lunch break. Interest in the show homes had slowed now, and he had no more appointments until two o'clock. He put in a call to his wife, Leah, at their home. He wasn't terribly concerned when she didn't answer; she was either napping, or out for a stroll with Douglas. Glenn knew she tried to sleep when the baby slept, otherwise she got no rest at all. He'd try again before he started for home.

Ten minutes later, two men pulled up in an unmarked gray sedan. The pair stepped out of the car and approached Glenn in the garage/office.

"Good afternoon!" Glenn greeted them warmly as he stood. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

He noted their dress: dark suits and ties; shades shielding their eyes, their faces all business-like and impassive. Both men looked to be in their mid-thirties to early forties.

Glenn didn't know how to peg them on the 'likely sale' scale yet; he'd have to get them talking, first.

"Are you Glenn McCaskill?" one man asked, pulling off his shades.

The tone of his voice struck a chord of unease in Glenn. "Yes..." he answered slowly. "Who's asking?"

"I'm Detective Ben Quinn; this is my partner, Detective Hal Bartlett. We've been trying to track you down all morning. Your bosses at Sheffield provided us with your location."

"You could have paged me, or called my cell phone," Glenn said, his sense of foreboding steadily rising.

"Not for the news we have to deliver, Mr. McCaskill," Bartlett said.

Glenn gripped the edge of the desk as his thoughts ran the gamut. Police only delivered _bad _news in person..._Leah. Douglas_. _Please, no. It couldn't be about them._

"I'm sorry to inform you that there's been an accident, Mr. McCaskill," Quinn said solemnly. "A hit-and-run. Your wife, Leah, and your son, Douglas, were struck by a speeding vehicle in a crosswalk this morning. Your wife was out walking with the baby in his stroller. They didn't survive. I'm sorry."

Glenn choked back a sob. "_No!" This can't be. They were alive this morning when I left for work! I kissed Leah good-bye. Good-bye?! I kissed her good-bye... Leah, Dougie...I'll never see them again...I'll never kiss Leah again... _

"Is there anyone we can call for you, Mr. McCaskill?" Quinn asked.

The shocked and grief-stricken man looked up through watering eyes, momentarily confused by the question. "Call? Um...Leah's family...do they know yet?"

Quinn and Bartlett looked at each other, and Quinn shook his head. "We'll see that they're contacted. We'd like you to come with us now, Mr. McCaskill. There's still the matter of making an official, positive identification."

"Wh-Where were they taken?" Glenn asked, wiping his eyes.

"Allegheny General," Quinn answered. "Please, if you'll lock up, we'll make sure your bosses know you've left for the afternoon."

Glenn turned off the lamp on the desk as if he were on auto-pilot. He picked up his briefcase and mechanically followed Quinn and Bartlett out of the garage.

"The backseat, Mr. McCaskill," Bartlett said, opening the door and motioning inside the gray sedan. "We can send someone for your car later. We wouldn't want you driving right now."

Quinn put a comforting hand on Glenn's shoulder and guided him towards the rear seat.

A moment later, Glenn felt a sharp pain on the back of his skull, saw stars, then nothing more.

"Watch your head," Quinn said, and pocketed his pistol.

* * *

**A/N: Hoping to have an update before the New Year, but I can't guarantee. Hope you've been enjoying so far, dear readers! Special thanks to my wonderful betas (you know who you are!) and a round of applause to the infamous 'darkmark', whose expertise made this chapter much better than it was.**

**_Rosie _appeared in the Hardy Boys Casefile #3 "Cult of Crime" **


	14. The Root of All Evil

**A/N: I know, it's my constant cry: Apologies for not updating sooner. Ok, with that out of the way, please enjoy this chapter. Thanks to all my readers for your patience. Special thanks to those who were pleased I re-introduced Rosie; it was fun for me to bring him back, too.**

Rosie's revelation stunned the Hardys. In a way, it was also a relief. If it was only the baby's _clothes_ that were being planted, the brothers conferred that it could only mean Andy was still alive:

"I think our investigation just got a whole lot bigger than we thought, bro," Frank said. "I think it's gone way past Cal and Sandy's murder. I think Andy has been abducted, and I don't think the perpetrators wanted anyone to know. Why else would the bodies have been buried in such a secluded spot?"

"Because they didn't want anyone to ever _find_ the bodies," Joe mused. "They wanted us to think they all went 'missing'."

"Right," Frank replied. "And they might have gotten away with it, until that hunter and his dog came along...So then they went through the trouble of planting evidence...Why?"

"Someone was probably hoping we'd think the entire Hunter family unit died – including the baby."

"That's what I've been thinking," Frank said. "But we're not buying it. And we're certainly not quitting until we find out exactly who's behind this, and why they targeted Cal, Sandra, and baby Andy."

Rosie stood silently throughout this exchange, keeping a watchful eye on the still unconscious, but living member of the duo that had followed Frank and Joe.

"We'd better do something about that guy before he comes to and tries to make an escape," Frank said, motioning towards the still, snow-covered man.

"I say we tie him up and haul him to the Meritsville cops," Joe declared. "Rosie knows this thug is deep in this whole mess. He's a murderer and a kidnapper. He nearly killed us, too. Rosie saw the whole thing."

"No cops," Rosie grunted. "You know Rosie don't like cops!"

Joe exhaled sharply. He'd almost forgotten Rosie's past experiences with the law.

"It's different now, Rosie," Frank started to say. "We're not dealing with the same department out here. Chief De Groot's a good guy."

A wordless sound of contempt issued forth from the giant of a man.

"There's a _baby_ out there – kidnapped from his family – and _you_ know what happened the night it all went down, Rosie," Joe said heatedly. "Telling the cops what you know is gonna help us put this scum-bag away, and will also help us find the baby before something worse happens to him."

Under his heavy, wild eyebrows, the brothers could see Rosie's eyes take on a reflective look.

Then he grinned. "Sure. Rosie will help you boys again. Rosie's woods won't be safe again unless Rosie does this."

Frank and Joe tried not to let their relief seem obvious.

"One question, though," Joe said, "what do we do with the dead guy? I mean, we'll testify to the fact that Rosie killed him defending us, but..."

"We can't just leave his body out here," Frank said.

"He's not coming in _our_ car!" Joe protested. "We can't stuff him in the trunk! That'd look really good for us if we get pulled over by highway patrol and they pop the trunk and find a stiff in there."

"If we get our car going again, one of us can drive it and the unconscious guy. We'll put the dead guy in the van and drive out to Meritsville together," Frank said.

"_If_ we can get our car going," Joe said, "then I'd say we have a plan."

After popping the hood as well as checking the gas tank for tampering, Joe finally decided to climb into the driver's side to check for any other signs of sabotage.

"Here's the problem," he grumbled as he sat behind the wheel of their disabled car. "Those goons wired an electronic timer onto the ignition switch." He had just unscrewed the underside of the steering column cover. "One of those guys must be carrying a remote of some kind. Once they were in range, all they had to do was send the signal to kill the ignition."

Frank let out a breath in disgust. "They probably did it when we left the car unattended to join in the search party."

"They've been watching us the whole time?" Joe was incredulous. "Quite apart from these thugs threatening to kill us, we must be getting too close for comfort to their operation, whatever it is."

"We can't be sure right now, but if it involves murder and kidnapping a baby...I've been giving it some thought. Since we're pretty sure the baby's clothes were meant to throw us off the scent... my gut is telling me we're dealing with a baby-selling ring; a very deadly baby-selling ring."

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.**

Leah McCaskill snapped off the radio she had tuned to an 'easy listening station' and checked the baby monitor on the dresser beside the crib. Satisfied that it was on, she crept silently out of the room after throwing one last, affectionate glance at her son. She left the door open a crack, just in case.

Leah looked at her watch. It was just past eleven o'clock in the morning. The baby, Douglas, had been up at nine; his infant metabolism demanding immediate attention. Now that he was finally fed and down again, Leah wondered if she should follow suit.

Just when she'd made up her mind to tackle the load of laundry neither she nor her husband, Glenn, had been able to get to, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

Hurriedly, Leah made her way down the hall to the front entrance. The last thing she wanted was for her visitor to become impatient and knock more loudly, or worse; ring the doorbell. That would surely wake Dougie.

As a precaution, Leah checked the peephole before opening the door. She saw two well-dressed gents. They were both wearing shades, which was slightly off-putting. They didn't look like salesmen or door-to-door evangelists like Mormons or Jehova's Witnesses.

"Who is it?" Leah tentatively called out.

"Police, ma'am," came the muffled reply through the door. "May we come in?"

Leah was immediately troubled. Why were the _police_ here?

"I want to see some identification first," she called back.

The men fished in their pockets and held up their wallets to the peephole.

She looked at the pictures and the names on the IDs, showing they belonged to a Detective Charles Butler and a Detective Jason Smith.

Still uneasy, Leah nevertheless unbolted the door and turned the knob. She swung the door open to face them.

"Leah McCaskill?" the one named Butler pulled off his sunglasses. His steady gaze took in her petite frame and chestnut brown hair.

"Yes," Leah responded. "What's this about, Detective?"

"I'm afraid we have some bad news," Smith said, also removing his shades and locking his dark brown eyes with her wide green ones.

"What is it? What's happened?" Leah asked, keeping control of her emotions as she started imagining terrible scenarios. She surmised these men could only be here about Glenn.

"There was...an accident on the I-279. A car collided with your husband, Glenn, as he was driving to work this morning."

_An accident on the I-279?_ Her thoughts echoed..._I was listening to the radio the whole morning. None of the hourly news reports said anything about an accident._ She frowned at the two men. Deep inside, her gut registered an alarm.

"Is he okay?" Leah managed to ask, her throat tight. She was still puzzled by her own immediate reaction. _Shouldn't I be breaking down? _

"He was pronounced dead at the scene, Mrs. McCaskill. I am sorry," Smith said.

"Why are two police detectives telling me this?" Leah asked, surprised it should even occur to her that this role normally fell to patrol officers. For the moment, she realized she was much too shocked for the tragic news to fully register on her consciousness.

"We're treating it as a homicide, Mrs. McCaskill. Vehicular manslaughter. We believe speed to be a factor in the collision." Smith said.

"Yes," Butler added, "and the driver of the second car fled the scene. He's still at large at this time."

Something about their reply seemed hurried to Leah, yet at the same time, rehearsed.

"We'd like you to come with us, please, Mrs. McCaskill," Smith slipped his shades back on. "There's still the matter of making a positive identification."

"Oh...Oh, of course," Leah stammered. "Where did they take him?"

"Allegheny General," Butler responded.

"Let me just get the baby," Leah said, turning to retreat to the nursery. "My son...I just put him down for a nap. I can't leave him."

"Of course, Mrs. McCaskill," Butler said. "We'll wait."

_Why aren't I feeling anything?_ Leah wondered silently. _Glenn is dead. My husband is dead. The father of my child is dead. Douglas will never know his daddy..._

She entered the baby's room and gently swept the sleeping child into her arms and cradled him against her shoulder. She drank in his fresh, clean baby scent. His head of dark hair was already so much like Glenn's with the pronounced widow's peak.

_You're going to look just like your daddy. _Leah's projected thoughts of the future were like a dagger to her heart as she contemplated the years ahead; years that suddenly would not include her spouse. Tears finally came, but she blinked them back as she placed Douglas in his baby carrier and prepared a bag with baby supplies and wipes. She returned to the waiting men.

"Okay," she said shakily. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure you're okay, Mrs. McCaskill?" Smith inquired. "Is there anybody we can call for you?"

Leah shook her head. "No...I mean, not now. I can call Glenn's family."

"Fair enough," Smith said. "Come with me to the car, please. Do you need any help carrying anything?"

"No," Leah answered, more forcefully than she intended. She maintained an iron grip on the baby carrier. Her precious cargo was remaining with her, as far as she was concerned.

She climbed into the backseat and buckled the baby carrier securely with the middle belt.

Smith sat to the left. "I don't want you to think you have to ride alone back here," he said smoothly.

Leah would have rather she did sit alone with her son, but she wasn't in the mood to argue with the man.

Butler started the car, and they pulled away from the curb.

In her mind's eye, Leah traced the route from her home to Allegheny General. It's where Douglas had been born. Her hand was now wrapped around one of his. She was acutely aware of her need to stay connected to him. _He's all I have left now of Glenn. I'm not ever letting him go._

Suddenly Leah realized that they were not following a familiar route to the hospital.

"This isn't the way to Allegheny General..." her voice trailed off as she turned to face Smith.

"I know," he said. He slipped his hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. He leveled it across the baby carrier in her direction.

"Who are you people?" Leah's voice registered her shock.

"Who we are doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is that you need to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. _Don't_ try anything stupid, like trying to alert other drivers, or jumping out of the car."

_I knew something was wrong about them_, Leah thought desperately. _There was no accident. They aren't the police! _

"Glenn's not really dead, is he?"

Smith smirked, but remained silent.

"What do you people _want?_ Why have you kidnapped me? Please...I'll do _anything_ you want – just don't hurt my baby. Please...stop the car and let him go. Somewhere safe. I promise to do whatever you want me to do."

Silence again from her captors.

"Damn you! What do you want from me?!"

The baby stirred. His little face scrunched up at his mother's outburst. In short order he began to fuss. Instantly Leah regretted her words. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. _I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Mommy didn't mean to frighten you. I'm sorry! _She smoothed his hair and gently rubbed his little chest in a comforting manner. _Please, don't cry, baby. Mommy's sorry she scared you..._

"I want you to do two things," Smith said. "I want you to get the kid to be silent, and then I want you to be silent, too. Understood?"

Leah nodded and began to shush the baby as best she could. She took a deep breath and faced Smith. "Look, just please tell me why you want me, and I promise I won't breathe another word."

This time Smith grinned, broadly and full of malice.

"Who said it was _you_ we wanted?"

* * *

Nancy left her appointment with Dr. Kirkpatrick and headed in the direction of the home of the _Chicago Tribune, _the towering Neo-Gothic structure on North Michigan Avenue.

_Hannah would probably have a fit if she knew I was going to talk to Ann Granger about the piece she wrote about the fire that killed that family_, Nancy thought with a wry smile. In the week since the investigative piece had been published, Nancy was still curious about the details. There had been no follow-up article from Ann. Had the story been buried, or was there really nothing else to it? Nancy was determined to meet with her old friend in order to see if her suspicions were unfounded.

After wasting a considerable amount of time trying to find a parking spot, Nancy finally managed to squeeze her Miata between two SUVs three blocks from the Tribune Tower.

They were going to be meeting for lunch at the famed Billy Goat Tavern, a popular hangout for Trib and Chicago Sun-Times reporters alike. Nancy briskly walked the distance down Michigan Avenue to the staircase just in front of the Tribune Tower that allowed access to the subterranean bar and grille.

She chuckled at the sign proclaiming "Enter at your own risk!".

Inside, yells from the short order cook prompting patrons to order quickly reminded Nancy she was actually pretty hungry. She knew from the Billy Goat's reputation that you never really told the cook what they wanted, the cook told _you. _With a grin, Nancy played the game and ordered a 'doublecheezborger' served with pickles on a Kaiser bun, and a Coca-Cola. She grabbed her order and managed to find an empty table in the 'Wall of Fame' section. On these hallowed walls were photos of local Chicago celebrities, including those in the newspaper industry.

"So, Detective Drew, when do I get that exclusive interview?"

Nancy looked up and saw a tall, strikingly pretty black woman, her own 'doublecheez' and Coke in hand, as well as an order of fries.

"Ann!" Nancy stood to greet her old friend. A smiling Ann Granger set her meal on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth and they shook hands, then pulled each other closer for an embrace.

"It's good to see you, Nancy," Ann said, after they sat down opposite each other. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Just got here myself. I was afraid _I_ was going to be the late one. Parking's a nightmare, of course."

Ann took a sip of her drink and nodded. "How's Carson?"

"He's good. Busy, as usual. Happy to have me home."

"And how are _you?_" Ann asked, her dark brown eyes serious, demanding an honest response.

"Me? I'm happy to be home, too."

"You're hedging," Ann said. "You're talking to an investigative reporter, remember?"

"One of the best," Nancy remarked with admiration. "Actually, I'm officially on leave."

Ann narrowed her eyes. "What for? What happened? They didn't _suspend _you for some bogus reason, did they?"

"No. It's voluntary. I'm talking to one of the Department shrinks. Just came from the latest session."

Ann nodded and decided not to probe any further. She took another sip from her cola.

"You know, ever since your return from the dead, everyone in this business has been itching to get your full story in print."

"Don't I know it," Nancy said, swallowing a bite of her burger. "When I'm ready to tell all, I promise you'll be the one I call, Ann."

"No pressure!" Ann said, flashing a grin.

There was a lull in the conversation as they both ate their meals.

"Ann," Nancy started tentatively, "about that fire you wrote about last week..."

"Nope. Can't talk about that one." Ann shook her head.

"Why not?"

Ann tilted her head and made no reply.

"Confidential source inside leaking you details?"

Ann gave a smile and winked.

"That's all you're going to say about it?"

"Yup."

"Come on, Ann..."

"You're really stuck on this, aren't you?"

"Well, yes. I can tell when things don't add up...and in this case...things don't add up!"

Ann picked at one of the fries and was silent.

"Ann..." Nancy prodded. "Come on. Something's fishy about it all. What that father said about his son; how he was terrified of fire...it doesn't make any sense that someone who ran family fire drills as a kid would own smoke alarms that didn't have batteries."

"You're right, Nancy. It is fishy." She leaned in closer. "I _cannot_ reveal my source. But after all we've been through over the years, I know I can trust you. What I reported last week...I was asked to...leave out certain pertinent details."

"Why?" Nancy asked, aware they were now speaking in hushed tones.

"Because...that fire wasn't an accident. It was arson. That family was murdered. The question now becomes '_why?'..._"

* * *

**New York University Medical Center**.

Dr. Genevieve Moreau sidled up to Dr. Jeff Hagen in the cafeteria line during their lunch break. As they grabbed items and loaded their trays, Gen spoke softly after ensuring no one else was in ear-shot.

"Have _they_ contacted you yet?"

"Yes," Jeff replied, not making eye-contact.

"And?"

"And...I'm not sure I understand exactly what they want. I'm a little bothered they don't want to meet me face-to-face."

"Why?"

"Well, I guess I'm a little surprised they're putting this much faith in me based on your recommendation."

Genevieve feigned a hurt look. "It's not _just_ my word," she insisted. "Your record speaks for itself. You were always in the top five of the class in med school...all the other residents here take their cues from you..."

"It's _more_ than that. I don't know these people."

"Don't you trust _me_?" Gen sounded genuinely hurt this time.

"Of course I do!" Jeff protested.

"Look, it's just research," Gen whispered huffily. "You and me; we're in a unique position to get them the information they need. You have debts. They have the means of helping you get rid of those debts. I don't see the problem."

"Okay, you don't have to get defensive," Jeff said, moving to the register to pay for his food.

"Fine," Gen said, curbing her frustration. "So...what is your decision?"

Jeff didn't respond for a beat. He was trying to ignore the growing suspicions in his mind. "If they're as charitable to me as they've been to you...I guess I could really use the financial assistance."

"Then you'll say yes?"

"Yes. I'm in," Jeff replied.

"Great!"

"So...how does this work, exactly?" Jeff asked as they sat in a corner table.

"_They_ contact you when they're ready for you," Gen said.

"Okay, but what is all this 'research' really about?"

Gen shrugged. "They don't tell us. My guess is that it's statistical stuff. I know I was asked to look for couples and their babies with specific physical traits, and to methodically document how often I came across them on the job. I submitted my findings to them on a regular basis. They made contributions to my loan shortly after each submission. And like I told you last week, I'm all paid up now."

"That's it?" Jeff asked.

"You sound disappointed, Dr. Hagen. You were expecting some kind of ground-breaking, Nobel-worthy project?"

"No...It just sounds so ridiculously simple..." he mused. Doubt was starting to gnaw at him again. There didn't seem to be any strings attached. Gen had obviously benefited handsomely with this project, so why was he so uneasy? _If it sounds like it's too good to be true, it probably is_, an inner voice warned.

_But I need the money_, Jeff answered back to the voice.

_And love of money is the root of all evil, _the flip side rebutted.

Jeff stared at his now-cold meal. _But I won't be doing anything illegal. I'm just collecting and passing along statistical information._

"Everything okay?" Gen asked.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "But I think I just lost my appetite."

Gen's mouth curled up into a smile. She reached over and held his hand. "Don't worry, Jeff. Everything's going to be just fine."

Her words should have relaxed him, but her smile made him shudder inside.


	15. Breakout

Nancy left the Billy Goat Tavern and drove through early afternoon traffic back to River Heights.

Ann Granger had admitted that she was sitting on a potentially explosive story. Marcus, Melanie and Meghan Shorter were victims of murder, not a tragic accident. _Someone deliberately set fire to that house. Someone wanted them all dead._

As she left Chicago city limits, Nancy began to wonder how much further she should poke her nose into the matter.

_It's not like you knew that family personally,_ she thought. _Let the investigators do their jobs. Focus your energy instead on getting better so you can get back to your job; so you can get back to your _life!

Nancy chewed on her lip, brow furrowed in concentration. She could feel the stirrings of something in the pit of her stomach. _There's something very wrong about this one. This is more than run-of-the-mill arson. I can't shake the feeling that there's something deeper going on here. Those poor people were murdered while they slept._

The Miata's engine purred as Nancy floored the accelerator. The traffic was thinning out and she cruised onto the open, empty road.

_I may not be 'officially' on any force or investigation, but I still intend to find out what happened! _With that decision, she was surprised to feel a small sense of calm and satisfaction come over her. _All that's left now is exactly _how_ I'm going to go about investigating..._

**Meritsville**

Frank and Joe had reached the decision that one of them would drive to Meritsville and alert the authorities rather than move the body of the deceased thug. Joe had volunteered, and Frank and Rosie remained at the scene.

When he arrived, DeGroot had taken custody of the unconscious thug, who had actually come to his senses in transit. He had maintained his silence the entire trip, and had refused to answer questions as to his identity and his role in the attack on the Hardys.

The local Medical Examiner had taken the body of the dead man for autopsy, although cause of death was already quite clear to all present.

Rosie had been extremely reluctant and even agitated at the prospect of turning in his ancient weapon as evidence in the shooting death, but Frank was able to reason with him that it was merely police procedure.

"_We_ know you shot him in order to save our lives," Frank said. "I promise everything will be all right, Rosie."

The Hardys held a conference with Chief De Groot in his office after they had all given a statement about what transpired in the woods.

"I'd say you delivered quite the package to us today, gentlemen," Chief DeGroot said, a grim expression on his face.

"Has he said anything?" Frank asked, referring to the man that was presently sitting in a holding cell.

"Our 'guest' has chosen to exercise his right to remain silent. Hasn't even called for a lawyer – yet."

"We _have_ to get that guy to talk," Joe said passionately. "He's definitely in on something big, and he's all we have right now."

"We found several license plates hidden in the van; some of them are even out-of-state. Doubtless they were lifted from other vehicles. Might even be mock ups. We're running all of them now." DeGroot said. "Hopefully, we get something. Maybe one of them might even turn out to be the _real_ plate."

Frank shook his head. "I think you're being overly optimistic, Chief. These guys are pros. I doubt you'll get anything of value."

DeGroot shrugged. "My gut's telling me the same thing, Frank, but I have to cover all my bases, right?... Now, you all seem to think there's some kind of baby-selling ring going on here...all because we haven't found the body of the infant?"

"Right, Chief," Frank started eagerly. "There's been no ransom demand. The Hunter family isn't wealthy, and there's been no body. Put that together with what Rosie says he saw the night Cal and Sandy went missing. There are only a handful of reasons someone would kidnap an infant..."

"Ah, yes...a dark van...and vague impressions of 'evil people' moving around the woods..."

Frank was annoyed that he detected a hint of sarcasm and disbelief in DeGroot's tone.

"I have to tell you two...Rosie's not a stranger to authorities. While I've never had run-ins with him, you tend to hear stories."

"What kind of stories?" Joe asked.

"Oh, nothing serious. But Rosie does have the reputation of being a trouble-maker."

"How's that?" Joe countered. "He's a survivalist. He grows his own food and he hunts. He's self-sufficient. He doesn't trouble anyone if they don't trouble him. Maybe if people stopped bothering him and let him be, he wouldn't -"

"Joe, I get it," Chief DeGroot put up a hand. "_My_ people have always let him be. I have no quarrel with the man. But I _do_ start to wonder why he didn't come forward sooner. If he knew there was something...illegal going on in these woods, why did he keep it to himself?"

"You think _Rosie_ is involved?" Joe was incredulous.

"That's absurd, Chief," Frank put in. "He didn't come forward for the very reason that he despises and mistrusts the authorities. But now that he has, I think you really ought to cut him some slack and take his observations seriously."

DeGroot raised an eyebrow and scowled.

Frank shut his mouth and tried to calm himself. "Sorry. I wasn't being very tactful. I didn't mean to tell you how to do your job."

"Thank you, Frank," the Chief said. "I can appreciate how you feel. You said you had an encounter with Rosie several years ago, and that he was helpful to you. Fine. To be honest, I _don't_ believe he has anything to do with the deaths of Calvin and Sandra Hunter."

Joe sighed in relief, and Frank nodded approvingly.

"You see, we got back the preliminary autopsy report. The Hunters were both shot, and it is clear from their wounds that they weren't caused by that rifle Rosie's been carrying."

"Do we know what type of weapon?" Frank asked.

"No. We did find some 9mm bullets which does little to narrow the field...Some of them were too far gone and fragmented to be of any real forensic value. If we did have a weapon for comparison, we might get lucky with some of the intact ones recovered..."

"Tell us everything you know," Joe said.

DeGroot looked at the brothers warily. "It's not pretty," he said as a warning.

"We didn't think it would be," Frank said somberly.

"They were pretty much executed," DeGroot said flatly. "Calvin Hunter was shot twice in the back of the head. Death was instantaneous. Sandra, on the other hand, appears to have been running when she was shot. Our ME found bullet wounds to the back of the head, neck, and thigh. Her slacks were shredded at the knees. He concluded it would be consistent with a fall to the ground. Her back was most certainly to the shooter."

"Cowards," Joe muttered, glowering. "What kind of monster shoots a woman in the back?"

"Anything else turn up in the autopsy?" Frank asked, trying to ignore Joe's comment, even though he felt the same way.

"Nothing that gets us any closer to the identity of the killer or killers, and nothing that gets us closer to finding the baby – _if,_ as you surmise, he's even still alive...Rosie's eye-witness account notwithstanding."

"Thank you for all this," Frank said, reaching over and shaking DeGroot's hand. "We'll be following up on some leads of our own from here."

"Ah, the missing Taurus, right?" the Chief asked.

"It has to be somewhere," Joe commented. "I mean, they can't have _buried_ that, too. Rosie says he saw two guys get into it and drive off after burying Cal and Sandy. We happen to believe him."

"Let us know if you manage to crack our man in black," Frank added. "I'm confident he knows plenty, but that he's also low on the food chain."

"I will," De Groot said, "so long as you let me know what you discover about the missing car. And for the record: it appears to me that Rosie's account of what happened the night Cal and Sandy were killed is consistent with the ME's findings."

Frank and Joe both nodded in approval and relief.

"I don't know how loyal that thug is to his employers," said Joe, "but I doubt he wants to take the fall for two murders, kidnapping, and vehicle theft. Not to mention sabotaging our car, stalking and holding us captive out there in the woods..."

"Exactly," De Groot said. "I'll be sending off the weapons we recovered from these guys for ballistics testing first thing tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and match one or both to the slugs we found from the Hunters."

"From your lips to God's ears," Frank said. "We could really use a break on this one."

ooo

It was close to six-thirty when Nancy pulled into the driveway. Hannah was just getting ready to serve a simple dinner of pasta with a tomato and basil sauce; tossed salad and a vinegar-and-olive oil dressing, and fresh garlic bread.

"Mmm..." Nancy sniffed the air. "Everything smells wonderful, Hannah," she said.

"Welcome back," Hannah said with a smile. "Your timing is excellent."

Nancy greeted Hannah with a quick peck on the cheek and hurried off to wash up before heading to the dining table.

When she returned, she found that Carson had emerged from his study and was helping himself to a generous portion of spaghetti.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, honey," he said warmly, setting down his plate. He turned around and hugged her briefly before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Nancy picked up a plate for herself and served up some salad and a few slices of garlic bread.

The meal initially passed in silence. It was broken when Carson ventured to ask how Nancy's session with Dr. Kirkpatrick had gone.

"Oh...fine," Nancy answered. "I'm seeing him again next week."

"I see..." Carson said.

Nancy noticed he hadn't resumed his meal. She looked up to meet his gaze.

"What is it?" Nancy asked.

Hannah had also put down her fork and was looking at her in a quiet, searching way.

"Is there something stuck in my teeth?" Nancy asked, jokingly.

"Oh...no, there's nothing stuck in your teeth, honey," Carson said hurriedly, and absently picked up a piece of bread and bit into it. Hannah took a sip from her glass of water.

"Okay, you two," Nancy said, "what's going on?"

Carson cleared his throat. "Hannah mentioned you were particularly interested in a house fire that happened a few days ago..."

"Yes..." Nancy answered slowly. She wasn't quite sure why, but she started feeling pangs of guilt.

"I noticed that Ann Granger wrote the piece on it."

"Right," Nancy said. "I was just...interested because it was a terrible fire. A whole family, including an infant, died."

"It was ruled an accident, wasn't it? Something about a gas leak?"

"Yes." Nancy sighed. She wasn't ready to admit she'd spoken with Ann, or about Ann's revelation that the fire was not an accident. "Are you worried I'm poking my nose some place it doesn't belong, Dad?"

"No," he replied. "You've always had a nose for trouble, Nancy. I just wish you didn't always follow that nose. You've only just returned home. You're on leave from your job. I guess I'd hoped you'd relax and take care of yourself before sniffing out another case."

"_Possible_ case." Nancy corrected. "I'm only going with gut feelings right now."

"So, you _are_ thinking of pursuing this..." Carson pressed.

Nancy sucked in a breath. She'd said more than she intended to. "Okay, you made me say it. Yes, I'm thinking of pursuing this."  
"Then I guess you'll be meeting with Ann, won't you? Ferret out some facts..."

"You know me too well, Dad," Nancy said with a wry smile, and returned her attention to the meal. Carson took his cue and decided not to press his daughter to elaborate any further.

ooo

The sound of Frank Hardy's cell phone ringing jarred him awake around one o'clock in the morning. With a groan of protest, he rolled over in his motel room bed and reached for the bedside lamp. The harsh light caused Joe to awaken as well, and he covered his eyes with his pillow to block the sudden onslaught.

"Frank Hardy..." the elder brother muttered into his phone. He listened for a few moments, then sucked in a deep breath. "Chief, what the hell happened?!"

Joe shifted the pillow down and eyed Frank, quickly coming to the realization that something was amiss.

"_Everything?!_" Frank said in disbelief. "The body?!"

"Frank?" Joe whispered. He was sitting up now, fully awake. Frank ignored him and continued his conversation for a few more minutes. Joe stood and began to impatiently pace about the small room.

"I know you're doing all you can, Chief. We're headed your way right now." Frank snapped his cell phone shut without bothering with niceties.

"What happened?" Joe asked, eager for details.

"That was Chief DeGroot. About two hours ago, there was what appeared to be a very well-orchestrated attack on the Meritsville police station. Whoever was responsible sprung the guy they had in custody."

"_What!_" Joe cried.

"That's not all," Frank continued, "the perpetrators also broke into the evidence lockers. The two weapons the thugs were carrying were also stolen, along with the ballistics evidence and lab reports from the Hunter case."

"They got away with all the physical evidence!" Joe sputtered. "Wait...was anyone hurt?"

"The officers on the late shift at the station were somehow rendered unconscious. Chief DeGroot says it may be some kind of knock-out gas. But that's not all..."

"What else could possibly be worse than losing precious evidence?" Joe asked.

"Another group broke into the morgue."

"Ugh..." Joe said with a shudder. "Do we know what were they after?"

"Chief DeGroot says the body of the man Rosie killed is missing, along with those autopsy photos and reports the ME did this afternoon."

"What's going on, Frank? Someone or some _group_ is very determined to keep all evidence from coming to light. They've already tried to kill us; now they're covering their tracks."

"I agree it looks very bad." Frank assented. "I didn't want to tell Chief DeGroot earlier how to do his job, but I'm beginning to think this is getting too big for us to handle on our own..."

ooo

A black SUV traveled quickly on a rural road leading away from Meritsville. Its occupants were feeling a mix of elation and trepidation: elation that they had successfully raided the Meritsville police headquarters and the morgue; trepidation that they were still not in the clear with their boss.

One particular member was experiencing a certain relief that he had been busted out of the Meritsville holding cell by his comrades. He was also nursing a slow-burning anger and resolve to avenge the death of his partner. They'd had Frank and Joe Hardy right where they wanted them, then some unseen marksman had interfered. He didn't know how he was going to explain that failure to eliminate those investigators from Bayport to the boss yet. Sooner or later, he knew he'd face that wrath.

The shrill ring of a cell phone broke the silence. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at the one whose phone was waiting to be answered.

"Ray," came the reply when the call was answered.

"I want a status report," came the curt instruction.

"The jailbreak was a success. We also recovered the documents and physical evidence in question. We have the body, too. We're on our way back, now."

"Good. At least you've all done _something_ right. I want to speak with Brad."

Ray handed the phone to Brad.

"Boss wants to talk to you."

Reluctantly, Brad took the phone.

"I'm listening," he said.

"You screwed up." The words were spoken in a low whisper, but Brad knew there was an avalanche of restrained anger and frustration behind them.

"I know. It won't happen again," Brad replied.

"Not only is Niles dead, but those private investigators are _still alive_! How did this happen?"

"They had someone with them. Back-up of some kind; shot out the window of the van. It took us by surprise. We got into a struggle with the Hardys; I got knocked out. When I came to, I was in handcuffs, and Niles was dead."

"Your incompetence in this case is trying my patience, Brad. Why didn't we know these Hardy characters had another partner hiding out there?..Never mind. _One more_ slip-up..."

The line went dead. Brad stared at the phone for a few moments, then returned it to Ray. The boss didn't need to finish the last sentence for Brad to get the meaning. One more slip-up, and he could kiss his job, and possibly his life, good-bye.

The ride continued in silence, and Brad's thoughts were churning. This particular case was turning into a nightmare. He did know one thing: the Hardys were going to pay for this embarrassment, and so would their invisible accomplice. It was only a matter of time.


End file.
